


Young Gods

by N1ghtWr1ter



Series: Badlands [4]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: After 3x07, Alpha Lexa, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Clexa babies, F/F, Femslash, G!p Lexa, Happy Ending, Mating, Mating Bond, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Clarke, Omega Verse, Omegaverse, because that was some bullshit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-05-24 18:50:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 233,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6163129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/N1ghtWr1ter/pseuds/N1ghtWr1ter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>They will go to war tomorrow with fresh mating bites on their necks; tonight they find solace in each other's arms, and in the knowledge that the only thing that can part them now is death.</em>
</p><p>Everyone knows that Commander Lexa betrayed Wanheda and the Skaikru at the Mountain. Only she and Clarke know that she also abandoned her mate. Following the events of the Mountain, Clarke has disappeared into the wilderness, seeking what peace she can find in solitude. But war is brewing, and soon she will have no choice but to face her mate, and the consequences of their decisions before and after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The beginning is the end (is the beginning)

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn't intended to be a fix-it fic, but because I wrote and plotted it to follow along with the current season, it's going to become one. I can promise you that no matter how bad things will get, there _will_ be a happy ending. It's going to diverge from the canon at some point for obvious reasons, but I'm not sure where yet.
> 
> I'm going to do my damndest to finish this fic with the kind of ending that Lexa deserved. I want to give her the kind of legacy she should have had. 
> 
> _Reshwe, Heda. Ai na throu daun gon yu otaim._

“What if we’re wrong, and cutting the power doesn’t disengage the locks?”

Clarke’s tone has gone past nervous at this point and is veering dangerously close to frantic.

“Your people said it will,” Lexa says without opening her eyes, swallowing a sigh. She’d been just about to slip into a shallow kind of sleep when the change in Clarke’s tone and scent had alerted her that the omega is nearing panic. When Clarke doesn’t respond she opens her eyes again, and this time she doesn’t bother to hold back her sigh. “You should rest, Clarke,” she says, throwing aside the furs of their bed and standing.

“We could blow the doors manually,” Clarke mutters, nodding to herself.

Lexa doesn’t expect Clarke to listen to her, but she figures she should try anyway. “Plans don’t last very long in battle,” she says, taking hold of Clarke’s shoulders with a gentle but firm grip and tugging her away from the map table. “Tiring yourself with questions already asked and answered is a waste of energy. And you will need all your strength for tomorrow.”

“People _died_ for this, Lexa,” Clarke snaps, shoving the alpha away when she tries to pull her closer and leaning in to peruse the map table again, even though they both know that she’s already memorized it ten times over. “It has to work.”

Her voice cracks on that last phrase, and when Lexa slips her arms around her from behind the Sky girl doesn’t protest _._ She’s immediately enveloped by a cloud of Clarke’s intoxicating scent, a heady mix that sings to her of warmth and sex and comfort and, oddly enough, home. She had known that she cared for Clarke before their mating two months ago, but it’s only grown harder ever since to pretend that she doesn’t need her. And from the looks she’s caught on Clarke’s face more and more often, she isn’t the only one grappling with these feelings. Lexa doesn’t do vulnerability well; she isn’t one for pretty words. But she feels like an open book before Clarke, the mask of her warpaint and the armor of _Heda_ useless as Clarke’s eyes read a million things that terrify her and exhilarate her, all from one look.

Lexa sees the moment when the doubt in Clarke’s eyes is replaced by something hard and sure, but she doesn’t have enough time to ponder what it means before Clarke is kissing her like the world is ending. Which, Lexa thinks inanely, it might as well be: no matter what happens tomorrow, whether they win or whether they fall, the world will change. Lexa knows that her spirit will return to Clarke, but she doesn’t want to leave this life without making the omega understand how she truly feels. When it comes to speeches that will muster troops, or turn warring clans into a coalition, she has never had a problem finding words. But she has practiced so long at silencing the voice of her heart that she isn’t sure she can find it again. She knows that she must show Clarke instead, and tonight may be her last chance.

So Lexa kisses her back, kisses her as though she’s rain in a droughted land, as though she’s all Lexa’s ever needed and all she ever will. She feels drunk on the sensation of Clarke’s mouth moving against hers, Clarke’s hands fisting themselves in Lexa’s shirt, the way Clarke’s body seems to mold itself to hers when she grabs her hips and pulls the omega closer. She isn’t gentle but she can tell by the way Clarke moans needily against her mouth and tries to press impossibly closer that gentle isn’t what her Sky girl wants.

They pull back to suck in heaving breaths but both feel as though they’re getting more of what they need from the heat of each other’s bodies, the desire in their eyes. “Lexa,” Clarke breathes, and they’re still so close that the Commander can feel her name on Clarke’s lips; can feel her breaths moving her own chest. She doesn’t go on - can’t find the words for what she wants to say to Clarke, what she’s come to mean to her - _only everything_ \- but she can read Clarke's eyes, the most expressive part of her, and sees that she _knows._

“Clarke,” the alpha says, nodding minutely, and in that word she tries to say everything she’s felt swelling in her chest, welling up in her throat and filling her mouth like a slowly building flood. But Clarke’s still searching her face for what she needs, and the words burst from Lexa despite everything because she can’t go on to her next life without saying them:

_“Ai hod yu in.”_

Although there hasn’t been much time for _Trigedasleng_ lessons in the months they’ve spent together, somehow Clarke knows what it means. Before Lexa has time to regret her words, to take them back or make up some excuse for baring her heart, Clarke’s rasped out her answer.

“I love you too.”

It doesn’t seem as though there’s anything more to be said after that. Actually, there’s probably a lot more to be said, but Lexa wants to think that Clarke can feel those things in the bruising force of her kisses, the tense power in her hands as she pulls Clarke flush against her body. She’s always been captivated by the way their scents mingle but this is something else entirely; she feels like she’s drowning in Clarke, and she doesn’t mind; she can think of nothing she wants more than to be pulled under.

Clarke’s hands tangle in her hair as Lexa’s reach around the span of her hips to grip the Sky girl’s ass, squeezing – she feels Clarke grin against her lips, and then groan as she grasps harder – before sliding under her thighs to lift her into the air. She feels Clarke’s breath hitch in her chest against hers, and a moment later the smell of the omega’s arousal intensifies, making the tent feel stifling. Her clit’s extending at the mere thought of that scent’s source, and when Clarke’s legs wrap around her waist and she grinds her hips down against Lexa’s, her mind goes blank. She can only focus on one thing: she needs to be in Clarke, now.

Nipping and kissing a line down Clarke’s jawline, she manages to stagger across the tent and deposit Clarke on the bed; she’s a little rougher than usual but from the spark she can see in the omega’s eyes it’s clear she doesn’t mind. She shrugs her coat impatiently to the floor and yanks at her shirt, stifling a growl in the fabric when it gets tangled around her ears. There’s a low giggle from the bed and she emerges glaring at Clarke, but another growl makes the grin drop right off the omega’s face, replaced by pure hunger.

With a certain amount of challenge in her eyes, Clarke sits up and draws her shirt off in one smooth motion. Ordinarily, Lexa might allow herself a moment to observe the curvature of Clarke’s form, the fluid movement of muscles under tawny skin that she’s spent hours memorizing with her hands and tongue, but something about tonight feels different, as though time is bearing down on them like a charging army and the pace of their desire is amplified to meet it. A growl rumbles in her chest as she stretches herself over the omega and leans in to taste her lips again.

Clarke’s hands are on her in an instant, raking down Lexa’s back and gripping at her ass; her hips inadvertently jerk into Clarke’s and she bites back a moan against the omega’s bottom lip. The Sky girl’s not so restrained; she groans against Lexa’s mouth, opening her own to allow the alpha’s tongue entry, and digs her nails in harder, urging her to repeat the motion. Lexa’s happy to oblige, picking up a steady grind against Clarke’s heated sex, and glorying in the increasingly frantic sounds it coaxes from the omega.

It’s not long before her shaft has extended fully; her trousers feel like an unbearable trap but she can’t decide whether stopping her movements to take them off would be worse. Luckily, Clarke makes the decision for her. She shoves at Lexa’s shoulders and when the alpha pulls back to snarl at her she rolls them over fluidly. Lexa only has a moment to regret insisting on teaching Clarke close combat before her breath is stolen by what the omega does next.

Clarke’s clearly relishing her new position if the gleam in her eyes is anything to go by, but she knows better than to let the smile twitching at her lips unfurl. Instead, she reaches behind her back to thumb open the clasp to her bra, and Lexa’s eyes widen and her chest hitches as her breasts fall free, large and firm and, she knows from experience, perfectly shaped and fitted to her hand. Clarke can’t quite hold back her smirk this time but Lexa’s too entranced with the way she moves, slowly winding her body in a tantalizing rhythm, to protest the omega’s smugness.

But not for long. She can smell Clarke’s impatience thickly in the air and feel it searing hot even through the layers that separate them, and Clarke puts the nail in the coffin by reaching up to palm her own breasts, squeezing them and rolling the nipples between. She arches one eyebrow and says, low, “So are you just gonna look, or…?”

That snaps Lexa out of her trance; with a snarl, she lurches upright and yanks the omega’s hands away, taking their place with her own and swallowing the omega’s delighted gasp as she picks up where Clarke’s left off. After a hard kiss that ends with a sharp nip to the Sky girl’s bottom lip, she begins blazing a trail down Clarke’s jawline, no longer caring about whether she leaves marks; if they die tomorrow, it won’t much matter whether their bodies are covered with signs of each other’s passing. Clarke doesn’t seem to mind, though, as her hips pick up their pace and she gasps out Lexa’s name, letting out a little shudder every time the alpha’s teeth graze her throat.

And then she’s wrapped her mouth around one firm nipple and started pulling and sucking greedily, kneading the flesh beneath her hand. Clarke keens, arching into the sensation and Lexa wraps her other arm around the Sky girl’s waist to draw her even closer. But as amazing as it feels to have Clarke gasping and writhing in her lap, the warmth and wet she’s grinding up against are pure delicious torture, and she can’t hold herself back anymore. Letting go of Clarke’s breast earns her a whine, and she stops suckling at it long enough to look up and smirk. “Patience, Sky girl.”

Clarke answers with a nearly inarticulate growl. “ _Fuck_ patience _,_ Lexa.”

The alpha’s smirk just grows. “I think you’ll like what happens if you wait.” She doesn’t wait for an answer, just takes hold of Clarke’s other nipple between her teeth and tugs. The growl above her trails off into a moan as she trails her fingers down Clarke’s taut belly. Upon reaching her waistband she flicks open the button, drags down the zipper, and then plunges her hand into heat and so, so much slick. She can’t help but buck involuntarily as she imagines pressing her length into that tight, slick channel, and she grits her teeth against the urge to dump Clarke unceremoniously out of her lap, rip her pants the rest of the way down, and _take her_. But while she knows Clarke certainly wouldn’t mind – is in fact alternating between begging for it and cursing her slowness, her hips moving frantically above Lexa’s hand as she begins to circle her clit – she also knows it will be all the sweeter once she’s driven Clarke to the point of submission. Luckily, Clarke doesn’t seem to be in the mood to play dominance games, and she highly doubts it will take long.

Clarke manages to hold out just long enough to make Lexa begin to worry about her own ability to maintain control, but then the motion of her hips drags her soaked entrance over the tips of Lexa's fingers. The omega lets out a strangled moan and melts, clutching desperately at her shoulders and the back of her neck. " _Please_ , Lexa," she begs, and the alpha is helpless to resist. One finger slips into Clarke's slick channel, and then another, borne on a tide of wetness, and Lexa marvels at the feeling of heated silk clenching down around her. She curls her fingers forward, searching, and is rewarded with a hoarse cry and the sight of Clarke throwing her head back, eyes shut tight in bliss.

But when they snap open again to meet Lexa's, they’re full of a fire and determination that make the alpha's breath hitch in her chest. She only has time for one more thrust before Clarke shoves her back onto the bed, kissing her furiously. Nails rake down the toned plane of Lexa's stomach, making her muscles shiver, before scrabbling at her waistband. She can't hold back a low chuckle at Clarke's frustrated efforts and is rewarded with a sharp nip to her bottom lip.

Somehow, despite their great reluctance to let their lips part except for hasty breaths, and to take their hands off each other for even a moment, they manage to undress one another. Lexa's willing to let Clarke take the lead in the beginning, but something stirs within her as the omega yanks down her trousers and takes hold of her cock. She only allows Clarke a couple of tantalizing strokes before a growl rips its way out of her chest. Gripping the Sky girl's hips firmly, she rolls them over and pins Clarke's hands above her head. The omega opens her mouth, most likely to say something insouciant, but Lexa cuts her off with another growl and then nudges up under her chin, drinking in the scent of wind and warmth and spice that sings to her of _Clarke_. A moment later, a fresh wave of heightened arousal makes her head spin, and while she knows that Clarke will never admit it, her gesture of dominance was _very_ much appreciated.

While ordinarily she might try to tease Clarke a little longer, drawing out the time until her control snaps and she can't help but push herself inside the omega and _take her_ , something warns Lexa that that will not be tolerated. In truth, she feels similarly. Time is a whip driving her on, racing the moon and stars to hold the morning back just a little longer and let her steal just a few more moments with Clarke. There's a weightiness to this, too, probably brought on by the gravity of what they'll face tomorrow, and Lexa can't help but be reminded of how she had not had this chance to say goodbye to Costia before she was taken from her. She will not waste it with Clarke.

Letting go of Clarke's wrists, she pulls herself back with some difficulty from where she's been suckling at the omega's pulse point and looks into the deep blue pools of her eyes, so easy to drown and get lost in. Clarke looks similarly dazed, flushed with pleasure and need, and Lexa can't imagine a more beautiful sight. If that's the last image she can call to mind tomorrow, she thinks, she may very well go to her death with a smile on her face.

She searches for the words to express herself and once again finds them lacking, but Clarke seems to read them in her eyes anyway, reaching up to caress her face with a tenderness that is made all the sweeter by the way her body shakes with need beneath Lexa's. With a sigh, the alpha leans down to press her lips to Clarke's again, and finally begins to push her hips forward as well, just barely managing to keep them from jerking as a hand wraps around her length and guides her into slick, clinging warmth.

Clarke is so wet that she probably could have taken her in one swift thrust, but while she knows that's what the omega wants, if the way that she's keening and thrusting upwards towards Lexa is any indication, something makes Lexa want to slow down, to treasure this moment. And so she grasps Clarke's hips and holds them down, savoring the slick, clinging silk of her omega as it engulfs every inch of her shaft.

When she's fully sheathed inside Clarke, she has to stop for a moment, panting and trying to recover her breath. But the way the Sky girl's inner walls are clutching and fluttering around her won't let her fully get used to the sensation. She grips tighter at Clarke's waist, hoping her familiar touch will ground her, but then she catches sight of the challenge in the omega's eye. _She's doing this on purpose._

With a low growl, Lexa takes hold of Clarke's thighs and forces them back roughly so that they rest on her shoulders, giving her a deeper angle for penetration that makes the omega suck in a breath. Then she leans forward, bracing herself on her hands, and begins to thrust, picking up a brutal pace that has Clarke gasping and moaning in short order. She knows she's just giving the omega what she wants, but Clarke feels so good squeezing down around her that she can't quite bring herself to care.

She knows the Sky girl's close by the way that her wetness is seeping out to coat their thighs, and how every one of her moans hitch into a gasp, and how her fists are clenching in the sheets as though she needs something to hold onto or she'll fly off the earth. The sight of Clarke beneath her, so close to falling apart, only heightens the alpha's determination to make her. Gritting her teeth, she changes the angle of her strokes, searching for the swollen spot along Clarke's inner wall that she knows will send her omega over the edge. She knows when she's found it - Clarke lets out a wail and her hands fly up to grasp Lexa's ass, drawing her impossibly closer and deeper. A constant stream of " _Fuck_ , Lexa" and "Harder, faster, _please!"_ encourages her to continue, pounding into Clarke at a brutal rate while struggling to hold back her own release as the Sky girl's pleasure mounts.

Just when she's begun to fear that she might lose herself before Clarke's ready, she feels the omega's inner walls ripple and pulse, and a fresh flood spill from within her to soak the place where their thighs join. Leaning further down, she presses a harsh kiss to Clarke's lips before nudging her jaw to the side to latch onto the pale skin of her throat and suckle hard. Clarke keens, nails digging into Lexa's backside as harsh contractions ripple through her, and she comes with a drawn-out moan that approximates the alpha's name before collapsing back onto the furs, gasping and shuddering.

Lexa manages to still with her, panting harshly against Clarke's neck as she struggles to control her breathing. Every muscle in her body is taut with need; she knows that Clarke's hands stroking the lines of her back are meant to be soothing, but every brush of the omega's skin against hers feels like lightning lancing through her body. Eventually she can't stand it any longer - she has to start moving again, or pull out. "Clarke, I need -"

She can't finish, but Clarke can read her body and rubs soothing circles against the back of her neck. "I know," she says, her words fire against Lexa's overheated skin. "I know. Take me."

Lexa lets out a low groan, but that's all the warning she can give Clarke before she starts moving again. She struggles to keep her movements slow and careful, her grip on Clarke's hips light, but it's damn near impossible with the way Clarke's inner walls grip and clutch at her. If she didn't know better she would think that the Sky girl was encouraging her - and when Clarke's nails rake along the muscles in her back to take a firm grip on her backside, she knows that she is.

"Remember you asked for this," she snarls low into Clarke's ear, and is rewarded with a full-body shudder and a fresh burst of slick from the omega's sex. Grinning against Clarke's skin, Lexa begins to pump her hips in earnest, each nip and pulse and strangled groan urging her to greater heights. Soon the omega's keening and writhing beneath her, and the pressure in her cock is immense. She feels as though every inch of her skin is burning where it touches Clarke's and she wants, impossibly, to be closer, even though she's filling the Sky girl to the hilt with every thrust. She tries to understand this impulse, what her instincts are demanding of her, but her head is filled with a thick fog of lust and need.

Soon she's gasping and panting, her hips stuttering as she tries to maintain control, but Clarke's hands feel like they're everywhere, urging her to lose it. She feels like she's going to go mad with her urge to - what? And then she catches sight of the pulse fluttering in the omega's throat and feels her stomach sinking like a stone. She's never wanted anything more - but she also knows that it's probably the worst thing they could possibly do. She loves Clarke - so very much that it feels like her chest is bursting with it - but should either of them die tomorrow, that space will be left aching and empty. She had never gotten the chance with Costia, to feel their souls entwine irrevocably, but she knows it would break her.

Clarke's hand strokes down the side of her neck, her sudden gentleness a sharp contrast with the way she'd been clutching only moments early, and slides along her jaw, her thumb resting just over Lexa's hammering pulse. The omega's eyes are vast, dark pools, and Lexa feels her breath hitch in her throat. All of a sudden the concept of mating Clarke, claiming her irrevocably as her own, is all she can think of. Her words stick in her throat, but she can see the moment understanding dawns in the omega's eyes. To her shock, however, it’s not sadness she can see, but desire. Lexa tries to avoid it, but she can’t keep the thought from rising to her mind: _She wants me to._

The thought makes her feel feverish, possessed, like she hasn’t since Clarke’s heat _–_ and then the omega arches upwards and wraps her legs around Lexa’s waist to draw her in a deep as she can. The Sky girl rakes her nails down Lexa’s back, tracing the lines of scars and tattoos that she’s spent many an hour tracing, dropping the alpha into a contented near-coma as she murmurs the stories behind each of them. But what Clarke whispers harshly in her ear makes her feel live as a wire, every muscle in her body straining against the urge to follow her instincts: “Do it. Claim me.”

Lexa almost can’t believe what she’s hearing. Her every instinct roars at her to follow Clarke’s command, to bite down and make the mark that will make Clarke hers. But the love she can feel trembling in her every muscle makes her thrusts stutter to a halt, dragging a whine from the girl beneath her; she has to swallow back one of her own when she feels Clarke clenching and pulsing around her, wordlessly begging her to move. “Clarke, I don’t…we shouldn’t…” she chokes out, and can’t go any further. She stares into those bluest eyes, pleading with her to understand what she can’t say: _I want this, I do – more than I’ve ever wanted anything. But I can’t lose you._

“I know,” Clarke says, and Lexa can tell by the way she’s looking up at her that she does. They both know all the reasons why this is a terrible idea, and will continue to be a terrible idea whether they survive the battle or not. There are so many things outside this tent that would be more than happy to part them, but right now what she wants most in the world is to forget that the world exists. “I know,” Clarke says again, rubbing the back of the alpha’s neck with her thumb; this time it sounds like _I’m sorry._ “But I don’t want to go into battle tomorrow without knowing how it feels to be your mate.”

Lexa feels like there are two storms waging war inside of her, or two forest fires struggling to swallow each other up. She has spent so long trying to honor her duty to her people, that makes her what she is – alpha and _Heda_ – that she had hoped she had managed to subsume who she is under the glorious burden of responsibility. All of her reasons – that she is the Commander, that she has a war to fight and a peace to make last, that she knows what happens to the people (Costia, Anya, Gustus) who love her – clamor inside her head. But when she looks at Clarke, all of those voices fade into silence. Staring into Clarke’s eyes, being in Clarke’s arms, being within her and feeling the omega’s every minute shift with agonizing keenness, has made all of that seem inconsequential. Lexa finds that she wants this, more than she’s ever allowed herself to want anything in her life, and a wave of need sweeps through her: _Mine._

Clarke reaches up and draws her down into a kiss. It nearly steals her breath, and a moment later the alpha’s hips start moving again and she’s gone, swept up in the wave of desire that had threatened to engulf her before. She hooks her arms under Clarke’s shoulders, holding Clarke tighter to herself and basking in the pull of her scent, the heat and perfect slickness of her sex. For a few moments there’s only Clarke’s low moans and cries, and her own harsh breathing that ends on something like a sob. But then she feels the omega’s lips against her ear, hears her murmur, “Yes?”

Lexa’s answer comes on a hot exhalation that finishes in a hoarse growl: “ _Yes.”_

And then Lexa’s driving into her, hard, powerful strokes that fill her until she’s gasping and crying out, clenching down around the alpha’s shaft. The only thing she’s fully conscious of is the urge to claim Clarke indelibly as hers and be claimed by her in turn. As she feels herself barreling towards her release she feels herself drawn to the heartbeat she can hear pounding just under the surface of Clarke’s skin, peppering it with kisses that gradually become sharper and sharper nips. Each one drives the omega wilder, and soon she’s pressing herself up against Lexa, desperate for as much contact as possible, while her inner walls are clenching around Lexa’s cock. She knows Clarke’s not going to last much longer, and neither will she.

With a final wrench, she manages to pull herself away from the Sky girl’s neck and look into her eyes, to ask one final time whether this is truly what Clarke wants. But she finds she’s beyond words, getting lost instead in the eyes of the girl she has come to love and, now, cannot imagine ever truly living without. Thankfully, Clarke understands what she’s asking, because her own words come on a high, plaintive wail:

“Lexa, _Lexa_ , please, I’m yours!”

“ _Yes_ ,” Lexa hisses, her breath unfurling hotly against the omega’s skin. “You’re mine, and I’ll never let you go.”

She flicks her tongue out once more to taste that perfect mixture of salt and sweet submission, and then nips at Clarke’s jawline. The omega tilts her head back instantly, exposing the unmarked column of her throat and the pulse fluttering wildly under pale skin, and Lexa loses all control. She latches onto Clarke’s pulse point, suckling hard and lashing the skin greedily with her tongue, all the while pumping furiously as she hurtles towards release. Clarke’s shaking beneath her, nails digging into her back and her neck, cunt clenching and fluttering wildly around her shaft, and she angles her hips upward to catch that spot against her front wall that never fails to make her fall apart. A scream tears from the omega’s mouth a second later and she knows she’s got it, and she finally, blissfully surrenders to her instincts: she sets her teeth against Clarke’s skin and bites down. A burst of salt and sweet and iron, and Clarke is hers.

Bliss fills her brain, so much that her entire body feels like it’s flying, lifting towards the stars. What brings her back to reality is a brief burst of pain as Clarke’s teeth find their home in Lexa’s throat, but it soon only doubles the elation she feels. And then they’re soaring together, crashing over the edge simultaneously as Clarke’s cunt ripples and spasms around her and the pressure is racing along Lexa’s shaft to fill the omega with her release.

The waves of pleasure keep breaking over her; she comes in seemingly endless pulses. With what little of her mind is not taken up by rapture, she recognizes that she hasn’t felt this throbbing, searing sensation since Clarke’s heat. Her thoughts are blank for a moment as she tries to muddle through why this might be; when she understands, she lets go of Clarke’s throat with a gasp.

They stare at each other, gazes locked as tightly as Lexa is now locked within Clarke: tied to her by her knot. She can feel Clarke pulsing and fluttering around it, her chest heaving as she tries to get used to its size, but Lexa feels like she can’t breathe. Finally, Clarke gasps out, “Did you just…knot me? How?”

“I…don’t know,” Lexa says hoarsely. “I’m not in rut, and you’re not in heat…I didn’t think it was possible.”

And yet the evidence is still between them, Clarke stretched and squeezing around her knot as the alpha’s release continues to fill her, hips rocking gently. Lexa can’t help herself: she leans down to nuzzle at the ragged edges of the mark she’s left on the Sky girl’s skin, whining softly at its sluggish bleeding. “Did I hurt you too badly?”

“No,” Clarke says, a little breathily, and Lexa pulls back to look at her in concern, but all she can see is tired desire. The omega reaches up to touch the mark on Lexa’s skin. “Did I hurt you?”

The moment the omega’s – _her omega’s_ – fingertips touch the mark, a spark of pleasure sears through Lexa’s entire body, making her jump. Clarke giggles and Lexa growls in fake outrage, reaching around to the unblemished side of the omega’s neck and nuzzling into it, nipping and licking playfully. Clarke’s laughter spills up to the roof of the tent and Lexa drinks in the sound, thinking that she would do anything to hear it over and over again. When she finally pulls back, exhaustion tugging at her eyelids and making her body feel languid and heavy, she’s rewarded with shining eyes and a tired smile. “Sleep, _ai hodnes,”_ she whispers, leaning down to place a chaste kiss on Clarke’s lips. With a sigh, she settles her head into the curve of Clarke’s shoulder, letting the omega’s scent comfort her like a warm blanket.

She’s almost asleep when she hears, “Goodnight, my mate,” but it brings a faint smile to her lips anyway.

They will go to war tomorrow with fresh mating bites on their necks; tonight they find solace in each other's arms, and in the knowledge that the only thing that can part them now is death.


	2. (you called to say) can you live with my mistakes?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so, so much for the incredible response to this fic, even though you've only had the first chapter. It means an incredible amount to me to hear that my writing has helped you, even in some small way. And all I can say is, we're the ones keeping each other going, keeping each other strong - and, by continuing to read and write fics that treat Lexa and Clarke the way they deserve, we keep Lexa's memory alive. 
> 
> A couple of things: Yes, there has been a tense change. That was on purpose. The first chapter was a prologue; now we're in the main body of the story. I also know I'm not quite keeping to a weekly update schedule...but I feel like we're all going to need something tomorrow. _Reshop, Heda. Osir na kigon yu gonplei._
> 
> As always, please let me know your thoughts. Next week we get Lexa's perspective on the whole thing!
> 
> [](http://s558.photobucket.com/user/calfaolan/media/green78%20-%20young%20gods%20cover_zpsi9hmjfrz.jpg.html)  
> 

“Ah, _Skayon – mou snap – jok ai meija!”_

The omega’s cries rang through the hut, resounding harshly in Clarke’s ears. Gritting her teeth, she put more effort into her thrusts, working one more finger into her dripping cunt. The girl’s body shuddered and her broken words tapered off into harsh gasps, but she still remained trembling on the edge of release. Clarke’s arm and shoulders burned and her body dripped with sweat; she had been fucking the other omega for more than an hour, but she knew that she needed something more to soothe the heat racing through the girl’s body and suffusing the cabin with her cloying scent.

When she had headed to the trading post with her latest kill, waiting carefully just behind the treeline for its older proprietor to leave, she had not expected what she’d find – although perhaps the look of curdled disgust on the beta’s face should have tipped her off. Either way, when she’d pushed open the door, the scent had hit her like a tidal wave, pummeling her with breakers of memories – _hot, slick skin sliding together; soft lips and hard hands using her body skillfully and making her burn; terrible, aching emptiness soothed by blissful fullness –_ and she had nearly staggered under their weight. The trading post girl – Niylah, Clarke knew by now – had looked up, and she had known immediately where the smell of heat was coming from – there was a sheen of sweat coating her skin, and just a hint of raggedness to her voice as she asked Clarke if she felt all right. Clarke knew the symptoms very well, although they prompted nothing but memories of bitterness in her.

And yet she couldn’t help feeling sympathetic to the other omega’s plight. When she had asked Clarke if she needed anything extra and then offered to bandage the wound the panther had given her, she had accepted, knowing the score. While she had never had a particular preference for any one presentation, she knew that there were some omegas who exclusively preferred the company of their own kind, and it was also not uncommon for omegas to seek solace with one another when there were no alphas that they desired to attend them during heats. And, much as she hated herself for the thought, she could not help taking some enjoyment in the jealous, possessive fury that would spark in _her_ eyes if she could see Clarke doing this. But rage all _she_ might, there would be nothing she could do to prevent it.

While she had never been with an omega during her own heat, she couldn’t imagine that alphas had the market cornered on soothing one – there had to be a way she could help Niylah. When she had offered, the Grounder had gladly accepted, relief and eagerness swirling through the cloying scent of her desperation. “My father will not be back until the morning, to check on me,” she had told Clarke. “You can stay here tonight.”

“Tell me what to do for you,” Clarke had responded, deliberately avoiding the implied question in the omega’s voice. Something like disappointment had flickered in the other girl’s eyes, but she had mastered it by the time she leaned in and whispered what she wanted in Clarke’s ear.

Clarke had never done it before, but Niylah’s instructions had been _very_ detailed, and that, combined with the waves of the Grounder omega’s arousal crashing through the tent, made her very much want to try. She whirled around in the middle of Niylah’s words and fixed her with a hot, dark stare that made the girl moan. “Niylah,” she said in a hoarse tone, “can you please stop talking?”

Now, as the omega trembled on the edge of yet another orgasm that, Clarke knew, would do little to soothe the unbearable need searing through her overheated body, she worked her fourth finger into Niylah. It only took a few swift thrusts before she was pumping just as easily as she had with three, and she knew the other girl was ready. Tucking her thumb as close as she could to her palm, she rotated her wrist and began pressing forward. The Grounder omega keened at the sudden stretch, and Clarke made to stop, but a hand shot down to grab her wrist and maintain its slow but steady progress. “ _Beja_ ,” Niylah gasped out, nearly sobbing with need. “ _Nou hod yu op.”_

“No,” Clarke promised, giving the girl as reassuring a smile as she could. She began thrusting again, keeping her movements slow but steadily applying pressure. When her knuckles caught, she had to bite her lip against the urge to ask Niylah if she really should keep going – but then a fresh burst of wetness coated her hand, and she slipped all the way inside.

Niylah immediately let out a hoarse scream, and Clarke couldn’t keep from moaning. The sight of the other omega’s swollen, soaking lips petaled around her wrist was so incredible that all she could do was stare for a moment. But then the Grounder’s hips started moving, her inner walls fluttering and clenching desperately around the hand inside of her, and while Niylah appeared to be beyond words Clarke knew what she was asking for: more pressure, more friction, something, _anything!_ Curtailing a strong memory of herself in much the same position, gasping and begging for release, she began to move, slowly at first but picking up speed and force as she gained confidence.

Soon the other omega was keening and rocking against her, crying out with each of Clarke’s movements. The explorations of the last hour had given her a fairly good idea of what Niylah liked, and it wasn’t difficult to apply that knowledge in this situation. The sensation of the Grounder pulsing around her was too much to bear, and her other hand abandoned its place holding Niylah’s hips in place to shoot down to her own dripping sex and begin circling her clit. She was already so turned on that it wasn’t long before her own moans mingled with Niylah’s.

Clarke’s own release came just after the other omega’s, most likely triggered by the pressure of Niylah’s walls contracting and her entire body convulsing around Clarke’s hand, as well as the sudden sharp burst of arousal and exaltation that filled the small back room of the trading post. With a groan, she was shuddering and clenching down around her own fingers, eyes clamped shut. But though she tried desperately to fight it off, it wasn’t Niylah’s body that her mind’s eye saw shuddering in ecstasy, nor Niylah’s mouth stretched open in a silent scream, but… _Don’t,_ Clarke told herself harshly, and rode out the tail end of her orgasm with gritted teeth.

When Niylah had caught her breath and her inner walls had relaxed enough to let Clarke carefully withdraw, she gave the other girl a lazy smile and stroked her fingers gently along Clarke’s arm. “That was…incredible,” she said. “Are you sure it was your first time doing that?”

Clarke couldn’t help but feel a bit smug, and she latched onto the feeling like a lifeline, using it to shut out all others. “Guess I’m a quick learner,” she said. “How are you doing? How’s your heat?”

“Sated, for the moment,” the Grounder fairly purred, stretching her arms over her head and letting out a pleased little whine. While her orgasm had been pleasant, the sinuous movements of the other omega’s body, so unlike those she had previously known, made Clarke’s arousal stir once more. Niylah’s lips twitched up in a grin when she caught the scent, and she wiggled closer to Clarke across the bed, pressing her lips firmly to Clarke’s in a kiss.

She began a trail of nips and licks down the side of Clarke’s neck that made her tilt her head back, groaning, eyes shut in pleasure. But just as soon as Niylah had begun nosing at the sensitive spot just under Clarke’s jaw where her scent glands lived, the Grounder omega withdrew. Clarke froze, afraid to open her eyes.

“Did you know?” came Niylah’s gentle voice.

Clarke hesitated for a moment, then said on a sigh, “Yeah, I... I did.” She’d had her suspicions – when her illness from a piece of undercooked meat hadn’t abated, and hadn’t been soothed by the usual herbs; when her senses grew keener and sharpened, especially her sense of smell; when her own scent changed, subtle but noticeable even to herself. But now – two weeks after her heat should have come and gone, and over three months after Mount Weather – it was all but confirmed.

“Do you know who the sire is?” Niylah asked, stroking a hand along Clarke’s arm. Clarke couldn’t quite contain the full-body shudder at the memories that touch evoked, and she gritted her teeth against a growl; the Grounder omega couldn’t have known what she asked, and didn’t deserve her ire.

The other girl was quick enough to see that that question had been ill-advised, and she rubbed her hands across Clarke’s suddenly tense shoulders. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable; I know it can be difficult.” Clarke nodded, unable to say more, although she appreciated Niylah’s tact. “I was lucky to have you here,” the other omega continued, hands beginning to roam along her sides and curl around her waist. “Is there any way I can thank you?”

Clarke thought about saying no; she only knew Niylah as the girl who shot her the occasional smile as she trucked in with the results of her latest hunt, and gave her nips of her latest berry brew on the sly. That seemed a rather silly objection, however, when Clarke had just spent the last several hours fucking the heat out of her. Her hand went unbidden to trace the dirt she had rubbed carefully over the puckered scar on her neck, but she snapped it down with a sudden surge of determination. Turning to Niylah, she offered her as much of a smile as she could manage.

“You know what? I think there is.”

* * *

Shortly before dawn, Clarke slipped out the front door of the trading post. Careful to catch its leather handle before it could slam shut behind her, she sucked in a grateful breath of the clear, cold air. The smell of Niylah's heat had not been unpleasant, but it had been all-encompassing and was bordering on suffocating. It also brought back memories of the last time she had been surrounded in such a scent, and her sleep had been intermittent and punctuated with troubling dreams.

Pushing back the lingering traces of guilt that nipped at her over leaving Niylah without a word of goodbye, she headed for her most recent campsite - and stopped, grimacing. Though not nearly as powerful as it had been in the close quarters of the trading post, the smell of heat still lingered strongly around Clarke, clinging to her clothes, hair, and skin. She could tell that it was enough to scare off any prey for miles around, and it would make her a promising target for any hunter. If one got close enough to realize that it wasn't _her_ heat broadcasting so powerfully, it would probably be too late for her anyway.

No, she was going to need to bathe. She couldn't help but relish the thought as she redirected her steps down the narrow deer path that led to the stream. She had been maintaining a coating of dirt, blood, and carefully placed berry juice to mask her scent for some time now, both so that the animals she hunted wouldn't spook immediately at her human smell, and so that no humans could grow familiar with it. She had hoped that she would put off a confusing enough mixture that if anyone did come hunting her, she would be hard to get a lock on.

But while her time in the wilderness had hardened her to certain inconveniences, Clarke could certainly still appreciate simple pleasures, like getting clean. She found her lips twitching upward as she made her way down the path to the streambed, watching the rising sun beginning to filter through the trees and imagining how good it would feel as it warmed her freshly scrubbed and dried skin. She would have to go about figuring out another way to mask her scent, but she was definitely looking forward to being clean again. She could even wash her clothes! It had been some time since she'd worn anything that wasn't stiff with dirt and sweat in the most awkward of places...

Clarke's nose might still have been clogged with Niylah's scent, but that was no excuse for how long it took her to realize that someone was following her. She immediately sank as low as she could in the brush, frantically scanning the trees for the direction of the twig she'd heard snapping just behind her, but all she could see was leaves fluttering in the morning wind. She had just written it off as some small animal being incautious and had carefully straightened, preparing to resume her trip to the stream, when a powerful arm wrapped around her waist and a hand clamped over her mouth.

Clarke let out a scream that was equal parts shock and fury, and then attempted to bite her captor with as much force as she could while simultaneously lashing out with her entire body. To her dismay, he sidestepped her kick with relative ease, and took her elbow to his gut with nothing more than a low grunt. Snarling, she twisted in his grasp, hoping he might not be able to keep his hold on her, but his arms might as well have been iron bars for all the good it did. “Stop struggling,” he said, gravelly voice low in her ear. “I gave my companions the slip yesterday, but they’ll be back. They won’t care to lose the opportunity to bring _Wanheda_ back to their Queen.”

Clarke had continued to fight him through most of his words, but when she heard _Wanheda_ and _Queen_ she froze. She’d been catching the first word with increasing frequency over the last month or so at the trading post, at the small encampments where she traded furs for food and a bed by a warm fire with local travelers, and in the tiny villages, sometimes no more than two or three huts, that dotted the area. It had taken her a week or so to realize that it referred to her, but when she did she understood that her self-imposed exile was over; she was now actively being hunted, and if she wanted to stay clear of other people she was going to need to work much more actively at it.

She had been expecting to hear the first word from her captor, but the second was what made her blood run cold. While she knew it was entirely possible that other clans were ruled by a queen, there was only one that she knew of for certain: _Azgeda._ The Ice Nation. More memories rose to mind unbidden, of standing over the last flickering embers of a pyre that contained a boy she had loved and thought she knew, and a quiet, carefully expressionless voice had, in its own way, tried to offer comfort: “ _I lost someone special to me too… She was taken by the Ice Nation, whose Queen believed she knew my secrets. Because she was mine…they tortured her, killed her, cut off her head.”_

A sudden, irrational fear rose in her, so harshly that she nearly choked on it. Unbidden, her hand rose to the mark at her throat, and only the bounty hunter’s grip kept it from reaching its mark. That served to focus her, and she turned the movement into a grip at his arm instead. _Enough,_ she told herself harshly. _There’s no way he could know – that any of them could know – just how much_ hers _I am. Unless she told – and she wouldn’t. It would look even worse, wouldn’t it, for the Commander to have turned her back not only on an ally, but on her mate._

“Let’s go, _Wanheda_ ,” her captor was saying in a hoarse growl, and he kicked at one of her feet to get her started down the path. “We’ve got a long road ahead of us.”

 _We’ll see about that,_ Clarke thought, eyes already scanning the terrain around her and picking out potential weapons and escape routes. _You might just get to find out why they call me_ Wanheda _._

* * *

 

When they reached the stream, Clarke expected them to begin traveling one way or the other, using the cover of the water’s rush to obscure their sounds and their scents. But instead, he stopped at the bank, releasing the hand over her mouth and starting to dig in his pockets for something. Clarke scanned the terrain swiftly, but she knew from experience that screaming was unlikely to bring anyone – unless she got incredibly lucky and a hunter from one of the nearby villages had stopped by to refill his canteen, they were surrounded by uninhabited wilderness. And, if what her captor said was true, he was just the first to get to her – there were others searching for her as well, and if she cried out she might just bring more of them down on her. No, she was in this by herself.

The bounty hunter made a satisfied noise in the back of his throat; a moment later Clarke’s arms were hauled roughly in front of her, and her wrists were being bound together with a length of rough cord. She grimaced, but it could be worse – if he’d tied them up behind her back, it would be much harder to get the jump on him, at least until she managed to get free. Once he released her, she gave the rope a testing tug, but to her annoyance there was no give.

“There,” he said, satisfaction in his rough voice. “Not going anywhere. But you stink, _Wanheda,_ and you’re going to bring every alpha in a five-mile radius down on us unless we can make you stop smelling like that trader girl’s heat.” He gave her a shove towards the stream.

Clarke darted a sharp glance back over her shoulder at him, at once annoyed and surprised at the accuracy of his senses. “What makes you think it’s not mine?”

To her fury, there was amusement in his icy blue gaze. “Because the smell from that trading post nearly knocked me on my ass, and you don’t smell half as strong. But I have to admit, it was a smart tactic, using her scent to cover up the fact that you’re carrying a litter.”

Clarke felt her blood run cold. She knew he must have felt how tense she’d just gotten, but she was determined not to give anything more away. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The bounty hunter let out an amused grunt. “Say what you like, _Wanheda,_ but I know what I smell. Either way, pregnant’s a lot less likely to garner us unwanted attention than heat, so into the river you go.”

“You first,” Clarke snarled, whirling on him. She’d seen her chance – a rock jutting solidly about a foot and a half above the water’s surface – and had just been working herself subtly into position. She drove an elbow into his gut, making him double over and huff out a breathless curse. One long stride took her onto the rock, and she was at the perfect height for a leap onto his back. Hooking the rope between her wrists around his neck, she wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled as hard as she could.

He was strong, she had to give him that. He fought her for a good long while, fingers scrabbling at her skin as he struggled and thrashed, and he nearly managed to throw her off several times. But ultimately his strength was no match for her tenacity; he steadily sank lower and lower under her weight, his struggles fading, until she could press his head below the surface of the water. Air bubbled furiously up from him for few seconds, but stopped when he went still.

Panting harshly, Clarke extricated her arms from around his neck and began looking for something sharp to free herself with. Spotting a snapped branch at the water’s edge, she began wading over to it, trying not to shiver too much in her soaked clothing. She didn’t make it far, however: the bounty hunter had been playing possum, and with an arm around her waist and another around her neck he had recaptured her with infuriating ease. His strength managed to yank her off her feet, and this time she really did scream, though it was more in frustration than anything.

“That’s more than enough from you,” her captor growled into her damp hair, tightening his hold. “If you keep this up, I have no problems with trussing you up to a stick and carrying you with me that way. Unless you want to make your grand entrance looking like a pig prepared for roasting, you’ll cooperate and you’ll do it quietly.”

“Like hell I will,” Clarke tried to say, but all she could manage was a furious growl before he had placed an arm behind her head and plunged her face-first into the water.

* * *

Over the next several days, the bounty hunter - whose name, Clarke learned, was Roan - dragged her across more terrain than she'd ever covered in such a short span of time. Her time in the wilderness had made her leaner and harder, able to put up with a lot of strain, but Roan seemed utterly tireless. At night, he would deposit her up against a tree and go hunt, forage, or barter their dinner - he traveled light, carrying very little in the way of extra provisions for himself, and certainly not enough for her - while she rubbed her aching feet and groaned.

Once, she had managed to cut her bonds on a sharp rock and gotten half a mile away while he was fishing in a nearby stream; he caught up to her in a depressingly short amount of time, and she had spent the least comfortable night of her life tied upright to a tree, her sleep disrupted every time her head nodded to her chest. When he had cut her loose shortly before dawn the next morning, she had greeted him with a ragged snarl - but no further protest.

Aside from her usual rage at the vast majority of humanity, Clarke could not quite decide how she felt about Roan. He was the sort of person who, unlike most, didn’t seem to find silence uncomfortable, and thus he didn’t attempt to fill it with inane babble, which Clarke appreciated. He answered her questions – including the one about his name – in a considered fashion, as though he was weighing each of his words, and while he didn’t explicitly put her off any one subject, she often found later that his answers left her with more questions than she’d started. He seemed to roll easily with the majority of events, and seemed to find a private joke in most of them – even Clarke’s decreasingly creative escape attempts. These had largely become rote, and Roan treated them that way – she would give him the slip and he’d let her run for a bit before coming after her with his easy lope. He never excoriated her for it, just deposited her back at camp, secured her to something, and settled in for the night.

He didn't tell her where he was taking her, of course, but she couldn't help recognizing some of the terrain as it changed from the dark pine-woods she'd been haunting over the last few months. The trees here were a more even mix of deciduous and evergreen, suggesting that they were traveling south, and the flare of the setting sun in their eyes every evening told her that they were also heading west. Clarke couldn't begin to imagine their ultimate destination, but she did know that they were likely passing through _Trikru_ lands.

Which meant that the Ice Nation army was quite the shock.

They burst from the cool dimness of the forest into the bright heat of a meadow, and Clarke had to stop and rub her streaming eyes for several minutes. It hadn't taken her quite as long to recover as she let on, however, and a quick glance around her clenched fists told her that Roan's attention was elsewhere - he was scanning the treeline, squinting under the shade of his palm. As she was considering how she could possibly turn his inattention to her advantage, however, he whirled around and dragged her to the ground, hitting the earth next to her just a moment later.

"What the fuck are you - "

"Shh," he hissed, and the concern on his face, which rarely displayed more than an odd sort of good humor, made her still.

The pounding of drums came first, and then the harsh blare of war-horns, but what really made her hackles rise was the dull, rhythmic thunder of hundreds, maybe even thousands of feet. Clarke had only heard that sound once before in her life, but she would never forget it: the sound of an army on the march.

She watched as Roan very carefully rose to his haunches, lifting his head just high enough to see through the tips of the meadow grass. To her surprise, when she attempted to do the same, he didn't stop her. What she saw stopped her breath.

She would have known that army by their white war paint, the banners stamped with the blazing white hand, and the dirty fur on their clothing and armor, even without Roan's harsh exhalation: " _Azgeda_." The word sent chills down her spine, reminding her of a dull, expressionless voice, a flickering fire, a missing head... Clarke sucked in a breath.

"What is their army doing this far south?"

Roan darted her a shrewd glance before returning his gaze to the marching warriors. "Guess, _Skayon_."

Clarke knew that _Azgeda_ were the traditional enemies of the _Trikru_ , and although all twelve clans were ostensibly at peace now under the Coalition, she couldn’t imagine that an entire army was just out here for a picnic. She felt worry begin to rumble in her stomach, but quelled it sharply. _It’s not your concern anymore,_ she told herself harshly. _You don’t give a shit about them, or – her, remember? This army is nothing but a roadblock. Or,_ she thought as she scanned the last wave of passing warriors, _maybe it’s an opportunity._

“It shouldn’t be long,” Roan said, eyes flicking over the banners that waved over the grasses. “Most of them have passed; we just have to evade the rearguard and the following scouts. Which we should be able to do if we keep our heads down and don’t make a –”

Clarke drew a deep breath, stood up, and screamed.

Three heads - the rear scouts Roan had spoken of, she thought - whipped around, and Clarke felt a chill run through her: most of their faces were obscured by masks, made of what looked like human skulls. All she could see were their eyes: icy blue and cold. She'd thought Roan's were warmthless, but these warriors' were far worse. What had she gotten herself into? she wondered as they stalked towards her through the waving grass.

Roan popped up beside her and muttered a soft curse. "I hope you're happy, _Wanheda_ ," he said, low in her ear, before taking hold of her arm. "Their deaths are on your head."

Clarke turned to tell him exactly what she thought of his ability to kill three men, but then the soldiers were upon them.

 _"Chit yu bilaik?"_ said the first one, spear held loosely in his fist but angled towards them.

 _"Ai laik Roan kom Azgeda,"_ her captor said easily, face creased into a friendly expression. His diction sounded a bit odd, and Clarke guessed that if Grounders had an equivalent of "country bumpkin," Roan would be doing his best impression.

Another scout looked unconvinced. _"Why aren't you on the march with us, then?"_ he said in Trigedasleng. _"Haven't you heard?_ Oso haiplana _has given the order to - "_

 _"Shof op,"_ said the third one, with a good deal more authority than his companions. Clarke focused her attention on him. _This must be their leader._ He'd be who she'd want to bargain with, then.

Roan appeared to have come to the same conclusion as her. He was looking at the third soldier with the eyes of a hunter, sizing up where and when to strike, even as his free hand dangled loosely near where Clarke knew he concealed a throwing knife.

 _"Who do you have here?"_ the first scout demanded, looking to Clarke.

Roan and Clarke both opened their mouths to deliver their own lies, but then the third scout's eyes narrowed to slits beneath his mask. Clarke gritted her teeth. _Shit._ She'd been hoping to convince them that she was just a poor omega fleeing a tyrannical mate, and that this was the man hired to take her back, but she could tell from the way the third soldier stepped closer, scrutinizing her closely, that she had no hope of that. His harsh alpha stink stung in her nose and she frantically swallowed a cough.

 _Wanheda,"_ he said at last, his words carrying a finality that made Roan's shoulders drop in a sigh.

The others glanced at each other excitedly. "Wanheda? _Here? If we bring her to the Queen, we'll be set for life!"_

 _"Yes, I found_ Wanheda," Roan said, with an air almost of pleading. _"Help us get to the Queen, and we can all share in the reward."_

 _So that's where you're taking me,_ Clarke growled to herself, attempting to burn a hole in the back of Roan's head with her glare.

 _“I don't think so,"_ said the third scout, loosening his sword in its sheath. He nodded to his men. “Frag em op.”

The moment she heard the order, Clarke was off and running for the trees on the other side of the meadow. She didn’t even make it halfway there before the short, sharp sounds of messy death had stopped, but she didn’t look back. All she could hope for was that Roan and the Ice Nation scouts had taken each other out, because she knew that if they caught her –

A body crashed into her back with a heavy thud, stinking of unwashed beta. Clarke hit the ground with a grunt, the wind punched from her lungs by the awkward angle. But instead of dragging her up to face whatever doom she’d bought with her outcry, the beta stayed where he was, almost like… _Dead weight,_ Clarke realized, and shuddered. Roan had taken out three men in the time it took for her to get halfway across a field.

A moment later, the body pinning her was rolled away, and she was hauled roughly to her feet. “Do you get it now?” the bounty hunter said harshly in her ear as he pulled his knife out of the man on the ground. All Clarke could do was nod. With swift, efficient movements, he freed her hands and then retied them behind her back, before she could even protest. Then, pulling another length of cloth from a pocket, he fitted it to her mouth in a makeshift gag. “I’m sorry about this,” he said as she seethed at him, growls rumbling through her chest with every breath. “But we’re getting close, and I can’t risk any more…mishaps like that.”

 _If you were really sorry you’d take this fucking thing off and let me go!_ Clarke raged at him internally, but all she could do was move forward as he marched them back into the trees.

The next time they stopped was at dusk, and Clarke strongly suspected that the only reason they had actually done so was because she was stumbling so badly with exhaustion that only Roan’s quick reflexes had saved her from falling flat on her face. But the third time that happened, she heard him let out a pained grunt when he caught her, and she realized that he must have sustained some injury during the fight. She smirked to herself as best she could with the gag between her teeth. _Guess you’re not completely invulnerable, huh?_ And yet she found that while she hated him for taking her captive, wresting her from her self-chosen solitude in order to make a payday, she didn’t resent him as she might have. Had circumstances been different, she might have even liked him. Clarke blinked at the realization. It had been so long since she’d experienced anything more than a dull hatred for other human beings that she’d almost forgotten what it felt like.

They made their way into what Clarke thought at first was a bunker, but turned out to be an abandoned subway tunnel – or at least that was what it looked like when she squinted and superimposed the picture she’d seen in the public transit section of her Old Earth history book over what she was seeing. Roan deposited her against a rusty beam and, after lighting a small fire, gave her some water from his canteen. When he pulled off his shirt, Clarke sucked in a breath.

The wound on his side was bloody but shallow; she knew that with a few good stitches and a couple days of minimal movement, it would be well on its way to healing. That wasn’t what held her gaze. Instead, her eyes trawled along the lines of his body as he carefully cleaned the cut, taking in the intricate tracery of scarification that adorned his skin. It was like nothing she’d ever seen before, and yet surprisingly familiar, although she couldn’t say why until he turned and she saw the full span of his back as he bent to the fire, heating his knife until it glowed. On another’s back, these lines would have been traced in ink, she realized. That thought made her turn away, lip curled in a bitter, silent snarl. There was a hiss of burning flesh, a groan of pain, and then a smell that made her want to vent what little was left in her stomach.

Clarke kept her eyes closed until she heard him approach, and then the gag was pulled from her mouth. “Scream all you want now,” he said, his voice oddly good-humored when she considered what she’d just seen him do. “Precious few know these tunnels; I’d bet all the money I’m going to make for bringing you in that we won’t see anyone else until we get to the gate guards.”

“Whatever the Ice Queen is paying you, my people will pay more,” Clarke said, a little desperately, but Roan just chuckled.

“Whether that’s true or not, _Wanheda,_ your people can’t give me what I want.”

“And what’s that?” Clarke demanded, entirely expecting him to blow her off. Instead, he fixed her with an inscrutable stare, all humor gone out of him in an instant.

“You’re going to get me home.”

They stared at each other in silence for a moment, faces rendered expressionless by the flickering flames, but eventually Roan’s eyes turned to something he was roasting over the fire. When it began dripping grease onto the hissing flames below, he pulled it out and offered it to her. “You should eat,” he said. “I’m sorry I haven’t fed you better, but we’re on a tight schedule.” Clarke turned her head in answer, although whatever it was smelled incredible. After a moment, Roan shifted closer, waving the meat under her nose. “Come on, _Wanheda,_ don’t be stupid. You’re not just eating for you anymore, anyhow. Unless you’re still feeling the _sonophaken?_ But you shouldn’t be, not three months along.”

“No,” Clarke said, turning to deliver a glare and inadvertently brushing her lips across the food. Her stomach gave an audible growl, which prompted another chuckle from the bounty hunter. She glared harder at him, but took a bite. And it really was good; she couldn’t stop herself until all of it was gone, and she was licking her lips greedily. After she was sure that she had gotten all traces of the grease that she could reach with her tongue, she turned a hard look on him. “You have a sharp nose for a beta.”

She’d meant it as a compliment, but instead he bristled and let out a low growl. When her eyebrows rose in surprise, he turned away and began rustling in his pack, his scent reading almost…embarrassed? It wasn’t easy to tell, what with his being a beta, and it annoyed her to no end that he was so opaque – even the most controlled of omegas and alphas were often betrayed by the way they smelled. But his body language and sudden refusal to meet her eyes told her more than enough. “Does that bother you?” she said loudly, hoping to provoke a rise out of him.

Instead, she got a dry, humorless laugh. “Not me, so much… I can definitely do without the heats and ruts. But it did tend to bother my mother, of course, that her firstborn pup wasn’t an alpha – or at least an omega that she could mate out to her advantage.”

Clarke frowned. “Why would she care? You fight like no one I’ve ever seen, and your nose makes you a hell of a hunter. What does it matter if you can’t knot anyone or have stupidly huge litters?”

Roan sighed, stretching himself out on the ground. “It matters, _Wanheda,_ but I’m not going to tell you why, because it won’t change anything. Just like the fact that one day you’re going to have to face up to the fact that you’re carrying those pups is not going to change, just because you’re trying to pretend they don’t exist.”

Clarke felt a pang in her chest and, oddly enough, in her neck, around the area of the faded bite scar. Turning pleading eyes on the bounty hunter, she said quietly, “Please don’t tell anyone.”

Roan looked at her then, but his eyes were inscrutable. “For what it’s worth, I won’t…but they’ll learn eventually anyhow. You just need to decide what’s going to happen when they do. Now get some sleep; we’re leaving at first light. I intend to be where we’re going before sundown tomorrow.”

* * *

Clarke was roused at the crack of dawn, but that was the last light she would see that day. A smelly canvas sack came down over her eyes, and then she was being led through darkness. To his credit, Roan was careful as he guided her through what sounded like rubble; she only stubbed her toes once or twice. But that didn’t count for much in Clarke’s book because he had put a _sack_ over her head, and it smelled like onions, and she had _no idea where they were going._ She only bothered asking him to remove it once, just after they’d stopped for a meal – Clarke wanted to call it lunch, but she had no clue because when he’d pulled the thing off her head, she had emerged, blinking and cursing, into a dark tunnel that looked more or less identical to the one in which they’d started. He’d removed her gag and fed her a few morsels of bread and jerked meat, let her have the last few swallows of water from his canteen, and stubbornly ignored all of the questions and curses she’d spit at him throughout. When he reached for the sack again, however, her tone turned beseeching.

“Wait,” she said. “Look, I’m not trying to get away. I know I _can’t_ get away – I have no idea where we are and even if I somehow managed to give you the slip, I’d probably just get lost and die in these tunnels anyway. Why can’t you just let me _see?”_

“I’m sorry,” Roan said, fixing her with a level stare. “But I can’t take the risk that you might just try something stupid. Not when I’m this close to going home.”

He had flung the sack back over her head then, and Clarke could only muster a dull growl before he was leading her on gently but firmly. The truth was, his words had opened a wound, one that she had known still festered but that she had thought she had managed to heal over months ago. _Home._ She couldn’t even say for sure where that was anymore, but she did know that she missed it. The bite on her neck ached dully, and Clarke felt her throat grow thick. She had thought, for one brief, perfect night, that finally – after falling to Earth, stopping a war, and fighting another to get her friends back – she had found a place to call home. But just like the Ark had been taken from her when she’d been shoved into the dropship with 99 other delinquents, she had lost the home she’d found on the ground too.

_No. It was taken from me._

Clarke found herself gritting her teeth against the gag, struggling to hold in a low growl. What she had always understood of home was that it was more a state of mind than anything, and that you were supposed to always have it within you, a compass pointed to true north. But that was a lie. _Home_ was a lie. If it could be ripped from your grasp, it wasn’t really home.

She let that fury burn brighter and hotter in her chest as they walked through halls of echoing darkness, where all she could smell was must and decay. She let it burn out everything else – the fear, the insecurity, the worry for what the future would hold – until it was all that existed. Whatever came next, she would face it with fire in her eyes and a snarl on her lips.

Without warning, the ground under her feet changed, became smoother, more polished, better kept. Roan stepped away from her, calling out to someone in swift Trigedasleng that she didn’t quite catch, and she heard the low rumble of their answer. She heard booted feet moving off swiftly, and then after a while of vertiginous waiting the sound of a heavy door scraping over stone. Then she was being led forward, into an enclosed space. A heavy, mechanical noise, doors closing, chains clinking and wood groaning – and then a sharp jolt, and they were moving upward.

As they ascended, Clarke caught a dizzying assortment of scents that, to her deprived brain, registered as a veritable cacophony – alphas, betas, omegas, food cooking, animals, incense, and far more that she couldn’t even begin to identify. She felt her stomach turn over, but whether it was hunger or nervousness or sensory overload she couldn’t say. The lift seemed to go on forever, creaking terribly – but then, finally, it stopped. She was led forward; more heavy doors groaning open, more muffled voices, announcing something – probably her capture, she thought bitterly – and then they emerged into a room so bright it made her blink back tears, even with the sack over her head.

A moment later, it was whipped off. The sun was beaming directly into her face, and she had to choke back a cry as it stabbed into her eyes. Stunned and blinking back tears, she barely noticed being forced to her knees, but then she heard Roan’s voice: “ _Wanheda, kom ai don swega klin.”_ Clarke forced down the pain, wanting to get a good look at the Queen of _Azgeda,_ most likely her executioner.

But while the face that swam into view was calm and expressionless, as she’d imagined, it was not harsh or cold. She felt an unwanted pang of arousal coil in her gut, much as it had when she’d first locked gazes with those brilliant, clear green eyes. All of a sudden Clarke was forced into a stark memory of a time when she had seen those eyes looking down on her, bright with happiness and subdued tears, only moments after her teeth had sunk into Clarke’s neck and her knot had swelled inside of her, claiming and being claimed irrevocably as her mate.

Lexa stood, and all at once those individual features resolved themselves into Lexa, Commander of the Coalition of Twelve Clans. But all she could see was that same face, blood-streaked, telling her “May we meet again,” before leaving her standing before the door of the Mountain alone. “Hello, Clarke,” she said, her voice much calmer than it had any right to be. Clarke had imagined this moment for hours on end during her time in the wilderness, had imagined spitting any number of righteous words of fury that would cut Lexa to the bone, had imagined simply forgoing words and speaking her piece with a bullet. But now, finally faced with her traitorous mate, seeing the answering faded scar on her former lover’s neck, all she could manage was a broken roar of rage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigedasleng:**
> 
> _Skayon – mou snap – jok ai meija:_ Sky girl – faster – fuck me harder!
> 
>  _Beja, nou hod yu op:_ Please, do not stop!
> 
>  _*sonophaken:_ morning sickness. From sonop (morning) and haken (sickness)
> 
>  _Wanheda, kom ai don swaga klin:_ The Commander of Death, as I promised.


	3. we rise and we fall (and we break)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always - thank you all so, so very much for your kind, encouraging words! I always look forward to hearing from you when posting new chapters, whether it's debating headcanons or asking questions or even just enthusiasm. I hope you enjoy this one as much as you have the others - it's from Lexa's POV this time (which of course means Lots Of Feelings).
> 
> [](http://s558.photobucket.com/user/calfaolan/media/green78%20-%20young%20gods%20cover_zpsi9hmjfrz.jpg.html)  
> 

"She's here."

Lexa had been a flurry of activity the entire day, fussing with preparations and ordering her attendants about and, she was sure, driving everyone in Polis's tower absolutely mad. But she couldn't help herself—when the runner had come from the lower gate to tell her that the banished prince had returned with _Wanheda,_ she had flown into action to make everything ready for Clarke. She didn't want to imagine what state the omega might be in— for all she knew Clarke was emaciated, filthy, having lived off rocks and dirt for the last three months—but however she arrived, Lexa wanted to be ready. Her pride, and something else she didn't care to acknowledge, wouldn't allow it.

Titus's voice interrupted her in the middle of rearranging the pillows in what was to be Clarke's bedroom—one of the finest suites, only one floor below the Commander's (which was, in fact, the whole floor). She had just decided in favor of having the blue ones facing outward instead of the cream, because they reminded her vaguely of Clarke's eyes, when he spoke again, his voice tight with impatience. "Would you care to tell me why you are fussing over this place like you are building a nest?"

Lexa whirled, furious words on her tongue, before forcing herself to calm down. She had never kept secrets from Titus and she did not intend to start now, but she had yet to figure out a way to tell him who Clarke was, what she truly meant to her. She could already hear his admonishments that she must guard her heart, that a Commander must be cautious beyond measure in taking a mate, and that Clarke was perhaps the least appropriate choice she could have made. She had heard them all before, when it had been Costia; she practically knew them by heart.

And yet how could she explain that mating Clarke and bonding with her hadn't felt like a choice, but an inevitability? Something about the Sky girl pulled at something deep within her, something that went deeper than _Heda,_ deeper than Lexa, deeper even than her most primal self, her alpha. She knew that it sounded like nonsense, and at the time she would likely have laughed it off as such herself, but even from the first moment she had laid eyes on Clarke, she had felt its tug.

And now Clarke was here, in Polis, in her tower. Lexa did not delude herself that their reunion would be a romantic one, or even a happy one. She could still vividly picture the utter betrayal and heartbreak in the omega's eyes when she had told her of the deal she made with Emerson, and that her army was withdrawing, leaving Clarke standing before the implacable metal door, facing only certain death. In all likelihood, Clarke despised her, and Lexa could not blame her. But despite her furious, repeated attempts to quench it, she could not help the tiny flicker of hope that kindled in her chest. _She does not know everything, not yet. Maybe..._

 _No_ , Lexa told herself firmly. _You must wait for the right time. It cannot be an excuse; it must be an explanation._ But when was the right time to tell her what Cage had said over Emerson's radio: that while her people had his at bay, that the door was open and likely would not close again until everyone in the Mountain was dead, her own side's casualties would be far greater than she could imagine? The _Maunon_ had had six missiles left in their silo; four were primed, and two were ready to launch. They all had been programmed with their targets: the nearest _Trikru_ villages, and...the _Skaikru_ camp, which its people were now calling Arkadia.

She had snarled, raged, roared at the world and at the man who had put her in this position, but there had never been a question of what she should do. Every alpha, beta, and omega in those villages, and everyone Clarke had ever known and loved, would be wiped out in an instant if she did what every instinct within her was screaming for her to do, and stood at her mate's side as her army stormed the door. To do so would be to abandon her duty to her people, and to doom Clarke to a life as the last _Skayon_. The cost would be too great.

And so she had seized the radio from Emerson and spat her answer, and descended the ridge to deliver the news of her deal with leaden steps. When she had seen Clarke's face as she realized just what that deal entailed, it had broken something in her, something she had thought long gone. Surely it could not be repaired. And yet that terrible, aching hope remained, despite her best efforts to stamp it out.

 _"Heda,_ they will be in the throne room at any moment."

"Thank you, Titus," she said, a little more curtly than was warranted. He merely gave her a slight bow as she swept past him into the corridor, but she knew he was tallying it up anyway. _Yet another thing to feel guilty for._

She strode into the room, nodding at her guards in passing as they snapped to attention. There was a swift breeze flowing through the open balcony, and she stopped for a moment to close her eyes and let it cool her face, which seemed to burn with her anxiety, with everything she felt for Clarke but couldn't say. But this was weakness, and _Heda_ did not show weakness, so she only let this moment to herself last for the space of a breath before exhaling, turning, and settling on her throne. When the guards at the doors turned to open them again, her face was as impassive as if she had been sitting there for ages, carved in stone.

There was a bag over the head of the prisoner they forced to her knees before Lexa, and she almost did not want this ragged, shuffling thing to be Clarke. But when she gestured for the sack to be pulled aside and looked into the wild blue eyes, there was no hiding from it. Lexa let out a breath she wasn't aware of holding, and stood.

"Hello, Clarke."

The Sky girl was blinking and staring around frantically, clearly having trouble focusing in the throne room's sudden glare, but at her words, they fixed on Lexa. A brief moment of realization shone in them and then they hardened into something wild and fierce that stole the breath from Lexa's chest. All of her carefully considered words of welcome evaporated in the face of the rage that radiated from Clarke in dizzying waves and erupted from her in a wild roar.

Clarke surged to her feet and lunged, spitting curses. The royal guards caught her before her outstretched hands could wrap around Lexa's neck, but it was close enough. She knew every facet of Clarke's scent, every nuance, as well as she knew her own; she knew all of its variations, when the omega was tired, or angry, or full of sated pleasure.

This was different.

Their eyes met again just as the guards began dragging her back, Lexa's full of shock and Clarke's full of fear, and Lexa _knew_.

 _"Hod op,"_ Lexa ordered as her warriors started moving to subdue the struggling omega. "Deal gently with her." She fixed Roan with a hard stare. "Our agreement was for you to bring her to me unharmed."

The beta met her gaze, unimpressed despite the pheromones and fury she knew she must be radiating. "She didn't come easy."

"I'd expect not." There was a knowing look in his eye that Lexa didn't like, and she wondered how much he'd guessed. While she'd never met Prince Roan of _Azgeda_ herself, she'd heard that he was sharp-nosed and quick-witted—unlike his mother, she'd thought privately. A knot was no guarantor of one's ability to rule, and if Nia couldn't see that, she was even more backward than Lexa had thought.

Still, she could not take the chance that Roan had guessed Clarke's condition, or that she was responsible. "Take Prince Roan of _Azgeda_ away; he will be a guest here until his mother arrives to answer for her army's movements." The prince's composure broke then, and he was pulled from the hall protesting her treachery, but she barely heard him; she only had eyes for Clarke.

Although she wanted to rush at Clarke and hold her, breathe in her mate’s scent and whisper into her hair, “You’re safe,” she knew she had to maintain her composure. Every eye in the hall was on her, as they had been ever since she had become _Heda._ And so she did as she’d been taught when she was young: slow everything down. Taking a long, deep breath and making sure that her steps were measured, she advanced towards Clarke, trying to ignore the feral snarls ripping from the omega’s chest.

As she got closer, she could sense the edge of exhaustion hiding just under Clarke's rage, evident in the shadows under her eyes, the scratches and barely healed bruises marring her face, the way her clothes hung over her curves more than flared. Lexa didn't want to imagine how she could have gotten this way, but she couldn't help it. What had Clarke faced during her time in the wilderness? She knew very well what sort of monsters the forest hid, and the humans were surely worse. When she had seen the state that her mate was in after Roan pulled off the hood, she had only just managed to keep from flying at the beta. The only thing that had held her back was the knowledge that she would be putting Clarke in far more danger by revealing what they were to one another, and attacking the Ice Nation prince would have raised too many questions.

Eventually Clarke ran out of breath, and her growls ceased. Slumped in the arms of the guards holding her, all she could do was pant and glare fury at the Commander. Lexa sucked in another breath, taking guilty comfort in her mate's scent. "I'm sorry, Clarke," she said quietly. "I didn't intend for it to be this way. But I could not risk _Wanheda_ falling into the hands of the Ice Nation."

The omega drew herself up, her eyes softening, and Lexa allowed herself, for a moment the length of a sliver, to hope—before Clarke spit in her face with all the force she could muster. Lexa reared back, shutting her eyes tight reflexively, feeling as though her insides had turned to cold water. She knew what was expected of her as an alpha, as Commander—such utter blatant disrespect would not be tolerated by the latter, and the instincts of the former should tell her to lash out and strike Clarke down. But her instincts remained silent. This was her mate; this was _Clarke_.

Her guards, however, would not have the same reactions. Scrubbing her face hastily with her sleeve, she roared out, " _Klark kom Skaikru_ is not to be harmed! Take her to the rooms that have been prepared for her and see that she is comfortable."

Lexa's words only seemed to enrage Clarke further. "You bitch! I'll kill you!" the omega spat, lunging over and over again at Lexa even as her guards steadily towed her out of the room. "You wanted the Commander of Death? You've got her!" Her words failed her then, giving way to feral roars that echoed down the hall long after she had disappeared from sight. Lexa hated the way that her entire body seemed to strain in Clarke's direction, urging her to follow the woman her mind, heart, and body still loved, and who had clearly come to hate her.

She stayed frozen, staring at the doors that slammed shut behind her mate, until she heard Titus, voice low and concerned. " _Heda_..."

"I'm fine," Lexa snapped, brushing his hand off her shoulder and turning away. "Leave me."

"Lexa—"

_"Bants, Tytos!"_

She heard him heave a heavy sigh, but she didn't wait until he had gone before stepping out onto her balcony. The evening breeze blew the scents of her city into her nose: cooking meat, lumber, woodsmoke, tar...the smells of a thriving city, a city at peace. Looking down, she could see the tiny, antlike meanderings of her citizens going about their lives - eating, arguing with one another, trading trinkets, falling in love. This was what she fought for, she knew - to allow them to have this without the constant fear that the world would demand their blood. _Jus drein jus daun._ She would spill it, and spill her own, so that they might have justice, might have peace.

***

She spent the rest of the day in long, tedious meetings, making preparations for the summit she was to hold with _Skaikru_. She sent riders to Arkadia, summoning their leaders to a peace summit and informing them that _Wanheda_ had been found and would be a guest in her city until she could be returned to her people. She sent messengers to all of the Twelve Clans, enjoining them under their oaths to her to send their ambassadors on their fastest horses to arrive in the capitol within a week. Lexa knew that _Azgeda_ would be hard put to obey that order...if they had been within the bounds of their lands, and not playing hopscotch with the _Trikru_ border. They would arrive late, surely, and make all sorts of complaints, but she knew they would take her message: _I know your movements, and I am prepared to counter them if they continue._

When she finished dispatching her riders, she made the mistake of allowing herself to think of what might have happened to Clarke if she had fallen into Ice Nation hands—hands, that is, that had not belonged to its exiled prince. Queen Nia was fabled for her cruelty—Lexa had personal experience—and if she learned (as she surely would. She was also fabled for her torturers' skill and expertise) that Clarke was the Commander's mate... Lexa had to choke off a snarl right in the middle of speaking to the royal hunters about provisioning and menus. The small group looked startled and some of them even began submission displays. lowering themselves to their knees and offering her their throats before she waved them away. "Your pardon," she told them, stepping back so that the smell of the alphas in the group did not rise so pungently to her nose. "I have many things on my mind. Please, speak to Lekka. She is our chief cook, and can tell you the rest of what we need."

Bowing, the group departed, and Lexa was left alone with her thoughts—her thoughts, that is, and Titus, who descended on her, thankfully before she could go to any darker places. "You should rest, _Heda,"_ he said, keeping his voice carefully free of expression, but his look was dark. _His look is always dark,_ she thought, and then snorted to herself. His look darkened further at the noise. He knew better than to ask what she found so amusing, but he also knew when he was being laughed at.

"Your pardon as well, Titus," she said, attempting to scrub the amusement out of her voice. "You're right, but there is still much to be done before the summit."

"Which can be done by many others, if you would only delegate some of these tasks," he said. Lexa raised an eyebrow, lips quivering with the effort of holding back a smirk.

"'A Commander does not ask others to undertake that which she will not do herself.'"

Titus rolled his eyes. "That is correct. However, 'mockery is not the product of a strong mind.' And yet when you decide to quote my teachings at me, you always seem to leave that one out."

Lexa grinned, then sobered abruptly, remembering. "Not always."

Titus sighed heavily. _"Heda,_ I must ask you again why you call this summit. Surely working out a treaty with the _Skaikru_ and handing _Wanheda_ back over to them does not require the presence of all of the Twelve Clans."

Lexa bit her lip, then released her own sigh. "No, it does not."

She turned away again to stare out of her window, trying to draw peace again from what she saw below, but Titus would not let her. "Then what is your purpose?"

 _You knew it would come to this sooner or later_ , Lexa thought. _You cannot hide from this forever. But it's the only way to truly protect Clarke, without making her your prisoner for the rest of her days._ Letting out a breath, she squared her shoulders and turned to face her _Fleimkepa_ . "I intend to make _Skaikru_ the Thirteenth Clan."

Titus's jaw dropped open and he stepped back as though she had dealt him a blow. The smell of shock radiated from him in waves, nearly dizzying her, but she forced herself to remain standing before him as iron. When he recovered, he said on a breath, _"Heda,_ you cannot do this."

"I can and I will," she said between clenched teeth.

"The other Clans will never accept it!"

"They will," she said firmly, with just the barest hint of commanding overtones layering her voice. "I am _Heda._ I possess the spirit that guides and guards. Every one of their leaders has submitted to me and bears my mark, and has given me their oath that they will follow me without question. That is my law, and our way."

More force than she had intended crept into her voice as she spoke; by the time she was finished she was nearly shouting, and Titus had his head bowed to the floor. They were silent for a time, before he found his voice. _"Heda,_ I know your law and our way better than anyone, except for yourself. But this...this is beyond either of them. The leaders of the other Clans will not pause to debate the finer points of governance with you; they will seek to depose you for what they see as weakness."

The word sent ice spiraling along her veins. That word, which had haunted her days for years in the form of Costia's ghost—and now it was made flesh, locked in a room in her tower. _More guards,_ she thought inanely, _I need more guards on Clarke's door._ But she knew that would not help her if someone were truly determined to take _Wanheda's_ power.

Lexa drew a shaking breath. "They will not," she declared, and Titus's head rose, astonishment still plain in his eyes. She forced herself to continue. "They will not, because they will see _Wanheda_ submit to me. They will see that even she who commands death bows before me, and they will have no choice but to accept my dominance and do my will."

Titus seemed stunned by the pronouncement for a moment, but soon his eyes were fixed on hers knowingly. "And how will you convince her to do that, _Heda?"_ he said softly. "Everyone saw what she was like in the hall. There was no submission there; she vowed your death."

Lexa fought back the urge to growl at the reminder, and turned away. "I will speak to her."

"There is no speaking to her, Lexa," Titus said, his voice filled with quiet urgency. Lexa turned at the use of her name, not her title; when Titus spoke to her that way, she knew he meant it. "You know this. But you can still lay claim to the power of death."

It took her a moment to realize what he was talking about, but when she did a full-throated snarl ripped from her chest. _"Ai nou na dula op nowe, Tytos,"_ she roared, and her voice was enough to send him to his knees. She regretted it instantly. He was her closest advisor, had known her since she was a young _Natblida_ under his guidance, and had never acted in any way other than for her welfare. But she had also revealed too much, she realized, as the power of her voice faded away and he was able to meet her eyes again. The look in them told her that he knew Clarke meant something more to her than a pawn in a political power play.

"Then you are putting yourself in danger."

"I am not afraid," she spat, though she couldn't look at him for fear of seeing her history written on his face.

"No, _Heda,"_ he said. "But I am."

He left her standing alone in her throne room, clenching her fists and uncertain whether she wanted to scream at the world or hide from it. But in the end, she could do neither. All she could do was try to change it.

***

Once she had regained her composure, Lexa attempted to return to making her citadel ready for the summit, but found that the tense energy that had driven her relentlessly throughout the day was all but gone. She moved through the tower with leaden steps, only just managing to mumble out what she needed to the appropriate person before sending them off to do the real work. She had stacks and stacks of lists and seating charts piled in her study for her examination, but she knew without looking at them that she would read them over and over and retain nothing. It was time to admit defeat.

She shared a late dinner with the Nightbloods, seated at the head of her table and regaling them with a teaching story that purported to instruct them in the virtue of courage but was largely just amusing. She kept glancing to where Titus stood in the corner, hoping to see him glowering at her out of the corner of her eye, but he just looked worried. Under the cover of laughter between punchlines, she heaved a quiet sigh. _Well, he told me that I’ve already made him lose all the hair on his head anyway. It doesn’t seem that there’s much more I can do._

After she had finished—or, at least, the Nightbloods had finished, eating heartily as she was glad to see; she had barely eaten three bites of her food, and had allowed the children to steal most of it from her plate—she rose, and the rest rose with her. _“Reshop, Natblida,”_ she said in a ringing voice, the voice of _Heda,_ the Commander that they all wanted and needed her to be. “ _Raun sintaim na kigon oso granplei.”_ As they filed out of her hall, talking and joking quietly with one another, she found herself eager to see how their training had progressed. _It’s been too long,_ she thought. In the months that she had spent in the field with her army, first attempting to deal with the _Skaikru_ and then preparing her assault on the Mountain, they must have been through so many lessons…

As he passed by her, she gave Aden’s hair an absentminded ruffle, and was rewarded with a shy but brilliant grin that she could not help but return. She knew that she was not supposed to get attached to any of her Nightbloods, but she could not help it: he was quick, sharp, smart, and had an easy natural grace that would serve him well on the battlefield one day—if he made it that far. She hoped that he did; he would be an excellent choice for her successor, and she often told the Spirit this. It did not answer.

He loped off to join his friends, leaving Lexa alone in her hall with Titus. _Exactly where I don’t want to be,_ she realized, knowing she was not prepared to face him. She quickly set off in the direction of the door, her strides just short of a run. “ _Heda_ —” she heard him start to say as she passed the threshold, but she pretended not to hear. _Not exactly conduct befitting a Commander,_ she thought to herself sardonically, but she was just so _tired_ and so heavy with the weight of the day that she couldn’t imagine bearing another one of his speeches.

Still, she found herself dragging her steps as she made her way to the end of the corridor, to the private door that led to the steps to the Commander’s rooms. She knew she would be safe in there—from Titus and his lectures, and from her own foolishness—as she was the only one who had the key, and the guards who would take up their post at her door once she retired for the night asked too many questions to allow a quiet exit. But those weren’t the guards she was concerned with right now. She narrowed her eyes at the two large figures posted against the wall just before the last door on the right, under which light was pouring.

They straightened as they noticed her approach, and she paused, nodding at them. “ _Eting ste ait?”_ she said softly, trying not to breathe in the scent that filtered through the door and called for her to come and join it, make sure that her mate was safe and warm and happy. Well, she knew that she could not provide the third, but she could at least make certain of the first two.

“ _Sha, Heda,”_ they responded, and she nodded. And then her heart gave a lurch in the direction of the door and she said before she could stop herself, “Leave me for a moment.”

They looked at her, and then at each other, smelling uncertain, and she bit back a growl – only a few hours ago she had spent a solid ten minutes enjoining them, with no small amount of alpha command in her voice, that they were not to leave this post for anything, even if the tower was burning down around them. _Wanheda’s_ safety was of the highest priority. She sighed, forcing back her exhaustion and her fury one more time. “It’s all right,” she said. “Only for a minute. You can remain in the adjoining hall.” That served to relax them, and they moved off eagerly. It was hard to disobey an alpha’s command, especially one that had been delivered as strongly as hers had, but it was even harder to disobey a direct and current order.

Once she saw that they had gone, she faced the door again. All of a sudden the scent that had called to her seemed to swell, and she was again confronted with the subtle variations that she had noticed in the hall. They did something to her, something she was not quite certain she understood: her chest swelled with pride, and yet a moment later deflated again with agony that she was not in there with her mate, tending to her every need and making sure that their pups grew strong and—

Lexa paused to find her hand hovering over the door, prepared to knock. She didn’t need to, of course—the Commander’s Key hung on a leather braid around her wrist, and it opened all doors in the tower—but she could not imagine intruding on Clarke’s privacy without permission. _Permission you are unlikely ever to get,_ her alpha growled, urging her to just _enter,_ but she resisted.

_No. I have taken Clarke from her exile and brought her here against her will—for her protection, yes, but it’s not what she would have chosen. I am not going to force her to accept my company any more than is necessary._

And yet she could not help placing her hand against the door and resting it there for just a moment. She knew she was probably imagining it, but it seemed to feel warmer to her than it should, calling her to enter. She removed her hand before it could get her in trouble and turned away, calling softly to her guards that it was safe to return. The relief in their scents was palpable as they were now able to obey both her past and present orders, and she thanked them as they resumed their positions. “Remember, let no one pass,” she told them unnecessarily, and then turned away.

The stairway to her bedroom was not steep, but every step she took from Clarke’s door might as well have been a mountain she had to climb. Eventually, however, she made it to her room, took off her shoulderguard and let it fall to the floor (before picking it up again hastily and settling it, with some ceremony, on her armor stand), and then dropped herself into bed. With how exhausted she felt, she expected to be asleep as soon as she hit the pillow, but sleep was a long time coming.

***

The next morning, she sent a messenger to Clarke, asking to see her. She did not send Titus, although he would have ordinarily been her first choice, but Lexa wanted the two of them interacting as little as possible. Her advisor was canny and would most likely try to draw information out of Clarke, trying to discern what _Wanheda_ meant to his Commander, trying to decide if she was a threat. It wasn’t that Lexa didn’t think Clarke was smart—she was absolutely brilliant—but she also was not entirely in her right mind, it seemed. Starving, exhausted, crazed…who knew what she had been through during those months in the wilderness? _Or perhaps she_ is _in her right mind, and you just don’t want to admit it because that would mean that her hatred for you is real,_ a voice whispered to her, and Lexa let out a loud snarl at it but did not demur.

So no, she did not send Titus. She sent Brenna, her _towakepa,_ well known and feared among the attendants in Polis for her warm yet brisk attitude, and her unwillingness to brook foolishness. Lexa had known her since she was a pup, racing around the tower with the other Nightbloods, and while for several years their interactions had largely consisted of Brenna chasing her around and admonishing her not to run on the stairs, and to clean her face, and to brush her hair because it was an awful mess, she had also taken one look at the scrawny, half-starved little Lexa and made it her mission to bring her up to fighting weight. That had mostly taken the form of second helpings of healthy food enforced by Brenna’s scowl, but it had also included, every so often, some of her famous jam tarts slipped to Lexa on the sly.

Lexa dispatched the old beta, smiling despite herself at the thought of being able to share this part of her childhood with Clarke. She was not smiling, however, when Brenna returned a quarter of an hour later with a dark scowl on her face. _“Heda,_ what did you do to that omega?” she demanded without preamble, as soon as the last petitioners Lexa had been hearing were out of her throne room. Lexa raised an eyebrow, a gesture that had the ability to make most others back down immediately, but it had no discernible effect on Brenna. “She is absolutely insane, there’s no doubt of that, but what little sense I could make of her is that she’s spitting mad at you.”

“What did she say?” Lexa asked, attempting to sound detached and largely uninterested. Brenna’s sharp look told her she was not successful.

“She said…that she will not see you.”

Now it was Lexa’s turn to deliver the sharp look—one she had largely copied from Brenna. “That’s not all she said.”

The beta sighed. “She said, ‘No, I will not _see_ her, and you can tell that piece of _skrish_ lying _branwada jokker—_ ”

“Thank you,” Lexa said hastily, and the beta nodded.

“Will that be all, _Heda?_ I’m not sure if you’re aware but someone decided to call a very large summit that is going to include a very large number of guests and _someone_ around here needs to make sure that they don’t all starve.”

Lexa merely smiled, knowing that Brenna’s ire was mostly for show. “That will be all, thank you.” The beta turned to leave, but then a thought struck Lexa. “ _Hod op, beja.”_ Mindful of the audience of guards in the room—most of whom were discreet and could be trusted not to gossip, but all of them reported to Titus—she rose from her throne and hurried after the _towakepa,_ escorting her to the door. She was given another hard look which made her swallow hard, but her instincts would not allow her to let this go.

“I would like to make a special request for Cla—for _Wanheda’s_ provisioning,” she said in a low voice, as soon as they were in the hall. She was instantly subjected to Brenna’s sharpest scrutiny, and she did her best not to quake.

“What request, _Heda?”_ the _towakepa_ said at last, and Lexa curtailed a sigh of relief.

“I would like to make certain that she is given the freshest and the healthiest of food, and plenty of it,” she said. “She has been in the wilderness for some months, and…”

“And she’s not alone,” Brenna finished, when Lexa did not go on. The alpha could not help the slightly panicked look she turned to the old woman, but to her extreme relief Brenna’s smile was sad, but kind. “Worry not, _Heda._ I will talk with Cook and make certain that she gets the best. I’ll also make some discreet inquiries as to our stock of certain herbs that encourage healthy growth, and ask that they be made into tonics.”

“Thank you,” Lexa breathed out.

Brenna gave her a sad smile. “It is my pleasure, _Heda.”_ Her habitually brisk manner soon returned, however. “My staff and I will make sure she’s brought back to health, no matter how rude she is.” She marched off with a brisk step.

Sighing, Lexa slumped against the wall, knuckling back the pressure building in her temples. Unbidden, her gaze slid down the corridor, to the stairs that would take her to the hall with Clarke’s room. Even here, she thought she could smell the omega’s scent, calling faintly to her. It was not the same frantic, desperate broadcast as it had been in her heat, but instead a low, insistent tug, urging her to be with her mate. With another sigh, Lexa wrenched her eyes away from the stairs. Clarke had made her feelings clear, and Lexa had done all that she could for the Sky girl. All that she could do now was wait, and hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigedasleng:**
> 
> _Maunon:_ Mountain Men
> 
>  _Skayon:_ Sky Person, member of Skaikru
> 
>  _Hod op:_ Wait
> 
>  _Bants:_ Leave
> 
>  _Jus drein jus daun:_ Blood must have blood.
> 
>  _Fleimkapa:_ Flamekeeper
> 
>  _Ai nou na dula op nowe:_ I will never do that!
> 
>  _Reshop, Natblida:_ Goodnight, Nightbloods
> 
>  _Raun sintaim na kigon oso granplei:_ Tomorrow we will continue our training.
> 
>  _Eting ste ait:_ Is everything all right?
> 
>  _Sha, Heda:_ Yes, Commander
> 
>  _*towakapa:_ head housekeeper
> 
>  _Skrish:_ shit
> 
>  _Branwada:_ literally brown water, but it means something like useless fool
> 
>  _Jokker:_ fucker
> 
>  _Beja:_ Please


	4. irresistible force met the immovable object

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I say this every time, but I just can't express how much it means to me that you guys have stuck with this story, even with everything that's happened and is still continuing to happen. I'm going to keep writing it because I believe it needs to be told, but hearing your enthusiasm and love for Clarke and Lexa continuing helps me keep my own head up. Thank you all! And as always, come tell me what you thought in the comments and on tumblr @n1ghtwr1ter!
> 
> [](http://s558.photobucket.com/user/calfaolan/media/green78%20-%20young%20gods%20cover_zpsi9hmjfrz.jpg.html)  
> 

The week that Clarke spent in Polis was the most luxurious prison time she had ever served. Oh, she was treated very well – three large, excellent meals a day that smelled so good she couldn’t keep to her resolution to refuse them out of spite; hot water to bathe the caked grime off her skin; soft, luxurious bedsheets that she just wanted to wrap herself in and never leave. But there were also the two large guards on her door, and the locked door itself. She had thought about attempting to pick it, but had given up bare minutes after she had started. What would be the point? She was tired of running, and there was nowhere to run to in Lexa’s tower.

And there was no forgetting it was Lexa’s tower, Lexa’s room that she was staying in, Lexa’s food that she was grudgingly gorging on, Lexa’s bathtub that she eased herself into with an embarrassingly loud groan, Lexa’s servants who brought her fresh clothing and asked if she needed anything before withdrawing at her low growls. She spent most of her time on the balcony, looking down on the teeming life of Polis, the thousand small dramas that played out before her eyes as thousands of people went about their lives, but she could not even do that without being reminded that this was Lexa’s city.

She couldn’t help being impressed by it – how cleanly and smoothly these people’s lives ran, compared to hers at least; how they often had accidents and arguments and scrapes, but not war. Kane had once called Lexa a visionary, and Clarke caught herself thinking that if Polis was Lexa’s vision realized, it was something the rest of the world could do with more of. Things weren’t perfect, but from what she could see, people were genuinely happy. She came to the grudging realization as she watched those lives unfold below her that Lexa’s people did not obey her with such unwavering dedication simply because she was Heda, chosen by the Spirit of the Commander or whatever; they did it also because they loved her.

The thought made Clarke feel a hollowed-out, empty ache just under her breastbone, and she turned away from the window with a bitter snarl. Her mating bite – carefully concealed under the high collars of the clothing Lexa kept sending to her – throbbed. She pressed her hand to it, but it did little to soothe the dull pain, and much to remind her of the night she had gotten it. _I thought I could trust you,_ she imagined saying to the alpha. _I_ loved _you. I gave you this piece of myself, and you walked away from that Mountain with it. You didn’t even look back._

The fresh wave of bitterness was enough to keep the fires of her anger alight, and so when the messenger came to ask if the Commander was permitted to see her she was happy to tell the woman exactly what she thought of that idea. The beta had merely lifted an eyebrow, told her that she would inform Heda of her opinions, and left with a small bow. Frustrated, Clarke threw herself into a chair to sulk.

She expected Lexa to send more messengers, or eventually to come herself, throwing open the doors and striding in with her usual commanding air, declaring Clarke’s objections ridiculous and unworthy of a leader, but she was left alone. Except it didn’t quite feel that way, because no matter where she went or what she did, she could always catch the faint undercurrent of the alpha’s scent. It was usually very subtle, hardly more than a whisper, but it was insistent and inescapable. Every once in a while it grew stronger, as though Lexa were right outside, and Clarke often found herself leaping out of whatever seat she was in, fists clenched, entire body tensed to meet her, but Lexa never came.

And it was utterly infuriating.

Because no matter how much she hated to admit it, the alpha’s scent still did something to her. It brought back vivid sense memories of hands, coarse but gentle (or, with enough goading, rough and controlling), corded muscle sliding under soft skin marred by scars and ink, hot breath against her throat –

Clarke shut her eyes against the rush of memories, shuddering. She hated it – hated that the barest suggestion of Lexa’s scent could bring them back that strongly, that overwhelmingly. And she hated that she could feel wetness seeping into her underwear, could feel herself pulsing and throbbing, could feel her body calling out to her alpha, her mate. _So_ this _is what it means to be mated,_ she thought bitterly. _I can never get away from her, no matter what I do. She’ll always have this hold on me._ But while she wanted to hate Lexa for it, and for the bite that had made Clarke hers, she knew that there was a matching one hidden just under the Commander’s collar. _I can’t be the only one feeling this way. It has to be affecting her too._

The idea gave her a good bit of satisfaction – perhaps too much satisfaction. She hadn’t realized just how much until one night, sliding into a warm bath Lexa’s handmaidens had drawn for her (she had given up refusing to bathe after an hour in her room with curls of steam seeping invitingly from her bathroom, and had not looked back), she caught herself thinking of the frustration the alpha must be experiencing. _If I have it bad, she’s gotta be worse,_ Clarke thought smugly. _I bet she’s been walking around hard since I’ve been here. Can’t be too comfortable when you’re trying to have meetings or train with your warriors…or…_

Her eyes had slid shut and one hand had crept up to her breast, pinching and rolling the nipple the way that Lexa – that _she_ liked, and the other was between her thighs, rolling over her twitching clit and gliding through wetness that was definitely not just from the water. When she realized what she was doing she made a disgusted noise and removed her hands, folding them over the sides of the tub to keep them as far from temptation as possible. _Fuck. I was_ not _just doing that._ But she had been, and what was worse, she wanted to continue. She wavered, caught between her mounting frustration and her anger at herself that she was still attracted to the alpha, was actually getting off on imagining her striding around, growling and barking out orders, all the while with her cock straining to free itself from her tight pants…

With a low groan, her hands shot back down to her sex, one of them resuming its place at her clit while the other teased her entrance. It wasn’t long before pleasure was building between her legs and she was rubbing herself in earnest. Hating herself just a bit, she was soon embarrassingly close to the edge, forced to consider just how pent up being in a place suffused with Lexa’s scent had made her. _Stupid alpha…with those stupid fucking – ah, fuck – hands, and those lips, and that unfairly talented tongue…_ The thought of Lexa’s tongue and what it could do, and what it _had_ done to her, had her hands moving faster, her breath coming out in quiet pants.

 _Fuck her,_ she growled to herself as waves of pleasure suffused her body, and her inner walls rippled. But if she was going to do this, she might as well surrender to it all the way. With a moan, she slid two fingers inside of herself, curling them up in search of the puffy ridge that Lexa had always seemed to manage to catch on the first try. It only took a few strokes before she was clenching around herself, biting her lip to keep from crying out, her release mixing with the water in her tub.

As soon as she had come down from her high, she pulled herself out of the water on shaky legs and tottered over to the pile of warm, soft bath linens waiting on her chair. “Dammit,” she muttered as she toweled off her hair, “damn her, fuck her, fuck _you. Fuck!”_ She aimed a kick at the chair and was momentarily satisfied to see it topple over, spilling the cloth to the ground, but was almost instantly contrite. The chair had done nothing to her, she thought as she righted it and set about heaping the towels back on top of it with mild embarrassment, and it hadn’t really helped anyway.

There really only seemed to be a couple of solutions, and one was completely out of the question. That she had come her brains out thinking of her mate, who had _betrayed her and her people and_ _left them for dead_ only months ago, in case anyone had forgotten, did not matter – she wouldn’t be doing that again, and she _certainly_ wouldn’t be fucking Lexa either. No, tomorrow, when her handmaidens came in with her breakfast, she was going to demand that she be allowed to leave the tower. This whole “honored guest” routine was bullshit; either she was going to be given the run of the city, or she was going to force Lexa to call her what she was: a prisoner. But either way, she was done thinking about Lexa in any way other than as her jailer.

***

The next morning she woke full of purpose, and did as she had planned. She interrupted her handmaidens in the middle of their gossip as they laid out her breakfast – fresh food, and lots of it, and annoyingly _healthy._ If she hadn’t seen the sudden knowledge in Lexa’s eyes as she had reached for the Commander’s throat, she would definitely have known that Lexa had guessed her condition by the nature and the quantity of the food.

“ _Ronya,”_ she said to the oldest one, who enjoyed bossing her colleagues about in Trigedasleng that she was sure Clarke didn’t understand, “ _ai gaf gon we kom towa, en chek Polis au.”_

The chatter stopped immediately and three sets of eyes snapped to hers. Clarke couldn’t hold back just a little bit of a smirk. They bore a striking resemblance to some of the deer she’d hunted, just as the animals realized that their fights were over. After a moment, Ronya swallowed and said, “ _Ai biyo moba, Wanheda, ba ai na chich Heda op fou -”_

“ _Em pleni,”_ Clarke growled, and all of them took a step back. She turned away, all satisfaction in shocking them with her fluency in Trigedasleng gone. She knew what would happen if they talked to the Commander about her wishes – Lexa would come barging in here, all orders and purpose, and would give Clarke about eighteen reasons why she couldn’t leave, and a few fucking _lessons_ about leadership besides, and she would smell too damn good and Clarke wouldn’t be able to handle it without ripping her throat out or jumping her bones. She began her habitual pacing by the window before realizing that the handmaidens’ eyes were still on her. _“Bants!”_ she snapped at them, and they scurried.

She paced for a bit, buzzing with fury at her captivity and her seeming inability to get Lexa out of her nose or her head. Stepping over to her balcony, she leaned against its threshold, looking down on the teeming city life she was being kept from. To her increasing frustration, the alpha’s scent only seemed to be getting more prevalent. She had no idea why that would be – until she heard voices just outside her door. She turned, a snarl on her lips and a growl ready in her throat, but there was also a part of her that said _At last_.

Lexa entered the room, her strides hard and purposeful and her face impassive. Clarke was instantly glad that she was standing by her window, because the Commander’s scent seemed to suffuse the entire room. However, while it would have been undetectable to anyone who did not know Lexa as well as she did, she caught the sharp edge of agitation just under the alpha’s usual intoxicating cloud of dominance. Clarke forced herself to concentrate on that chink in the Commander’s armor, and used it to focus her.

Lexa’s posture was ramrod straight, her head high, and her clear gaze fixed unwaveringly on Clarke as she crossed her arms in front of herself. Clarke’s own eyes narrowed. “What part of ‘ _I won’t see you’_ was unclear?” she said, just the barest hint of a growl in her tone.

Lexa lifted her chin. “I respected your wishes for a week, Clarke.”

She hated herself for the slight rush of warmth in her chest at the way Lexa said her name, pronouncing it as the _Trikru_ would – _Klark_ – with that subtle emphasis on the _k_ that only meant Lexa. It was gone immediately at the Commander’s next words.

“We have bigger concerns.”

“ _We_ don’t have any concerns at all,” Clarke said, sneering a bit. As if Lexa expected her to just – what? Ignore all that had happened between them, and just pick up where they’d left off? No, it couldn’t be that, she decided, watching Lexa’s otherwise impassive face flicker with impatience. Lexa might be a lot of things – traitorous, ruthless, utterly untrustworthy – but she wasn’t stupid.

“Yes we do,” Lexa said, advancing slowly and carefully, and Clarke schooled herself against admiring the lean predator’s grace of her movements. The alpha stopped just out of range of a well-timed lunge and turned to look out the window, pale green eyes flicking over the scene below for a moment. Clarke forced herself to breathe shallowly. “I’m hosting a summit with _Skaikru_ at sundown; you’ll be returned to your people.”

Clarke’s eyebrows rose; she prowled forward a couple of steps until the alpha turned towards her. “You went to all that trouble to capture me, just to let me go?” she said, layering her voice with a careful mix of disinterest and disdain.

Lexa regarded her levelly. “I went to all that trouble to save you.”

Fury and disbelief surged within Clarke, making her want to spit and seethe at the alpha before her, but she controlled it. _She doesn’t know how much I’ve changed. I can use that._ “You know when I could have used saving?”

Lexa raised her chin, her look very clear: _Here it comes._ For some reason, her stoicism enraged Clarke more. “When you abandoned me at Mount Weather,” she said, lip lifted in a snarl.

“Clearly you didn’t need my help,” Lexa replied, with a minute tilt of her head that made Clarke want to punch her in her perfect face.

“Clearly,” she hissed, turning away to regain her composure. _Fucking Lexa. What is it about her that makes it so_ hard _to stay calm?_

“You’re angry, Clarke, but I know you,” came the low, measured voice. Clarke whirled, preparing to tell the alpha that clearly she didn’t know a damn thing about her, because if she did, she would know that Clarke was five seconds away from ripping her throat out, when Lexa continued, “What you’ve done haunts you, and it’s easier to hate me than to hate yourself.”

“Oh, I can do both,” Clarke seethed before she could stop herself.

To her surprise and fury, a small flicker of defiance showed in Lexa’s eyes. “And what would you have done, if you were offered the same choice? To save your people, at the price of mine?” Lexa’s words cut straight to the crack in the armor of her hatred and rage at the Commander. She _had_ made the same choice. She had sacrificed the three hundred alphas, betas, and omegas in Mount Weather for her own people’s survival. “Would you really have chosen differently?” Lexa said, and the look in her eyes was knowing.

“I don’t betray my friends,” Clarke burst out, moving closer, wanting to rage and strike at things but suddenly feeling too tired.

“But you did,” Lexa said, nodding, holding her ground. “You _had_ friends in Mount Weather. People who sheltered you and helped you stay alive.”

“Those deaths are on you too,” Clarke told her bitterly. “The only difference is, you have no honor and I had no choice.”

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fucking fair. How could Lexa have made peace already with what she had done? For all that she liked to pretend that Lexa hadn’t cared when she left Clarke standing alone before the doors of the Mountain, she knew that wasn’t the truth. She had seen the agony on the Commander’s face as she informed Clarke of the deal, had smelled her misery when she turned away and took her army with her. And yet here she was, calmly and reasonably waving away Clarke’s rage as though it were no more than smoke – and as though they had been no more to one another than allies. As though what had happened between them the night before the battle didn’t matter. As though when she had walked away that night, she hadn’t been abandoning the omega she’d just bonded with, revoking the bone-deep pledge that was the mark of her teeth in Clarke’s throat.

“It does no one any good to dwell on the past,” Lexa said, as though that made any sense – how could she avoid dwelling on it? The alpha strode closer, and all of a sudden Clarke’s senses were suffused with the intoxicating scent that was _Lexa_ – clean skin and lightly fragrant hair contrasted with an undertone of sweat, as though she had just bathed after a training session with her warriors. And dominance – she was still the strongest alpha Clarke had ever smelled, and she knew from experience that Lexa wasn’t even trying to be. If anything, she was probably working hard to rein in her pheromones so as not to agitate Clarke further. She snorted to herself. _Fat chance of that._

“You’re right, I’m not just here to hand you back to your people; I want something more,” the alpha said, speaking more quickly now, as though she expected Clarke’s vitriol to return at any moment. Clarke turned back at the sudden drop in Lexa’s tone. What she saw made her swallow hard. Clearly the alpha realized that her choice of words was unfortunate, because her eyes had widened, the clear green darkening to the shade of a dusk forest; her fingers twitched as though they ached to reach out for Clarke’s hips, and her gaze kept flicking between Clarke’s eyes and her lips. There was a trace of arousal to the alpha’s scent, subtle but keen enough to make the air between them feel charged with heat.

They stared at each other for a long moment, Clarke’s body humming with tension – although whether it was due to the urge to back away from Lexa, or to step in closer, breathe in that intoxicating scent that had become, for her, indelibly linked with _sex_ and _need_ and _Lexa_ and _home_ , she could not be sure. She was sure, however, from the line of Lexa’s practically vibrating profile, that she was not the only one who felt that tension. But infuriatingly, the Commander was the first to master herself. Swallowing hard, she lifted her chin and said, “I want your people to become my people.”

Clarke’s heart rose at the alpha’s words, hope filling it for the first time in recent memory, but moments later it sank to become a stone in the pit of her stomach.

_I made this choice with my head, not my heart. The duty to my people comes first._

Bitterness filled her mouth and choked her, and she was hard-pressed to keep from snarling. “I’m offering _Skaikru_ the chance to join my Coalition; become the Thirteenth Clan.” Clarke began shaking her head. This was bullshit; this was such _bullshit,_ as though Lexa had any right to offer that after she had _left_ her – left _them_ – at the Mountain, saying what she did.

As though she could sense that she was losing Clarke, Lexa began speaking faster, hurrying her words out of her mouth in tight, clipped phrases. “No one would dare to move against you because that would be moving against me.”

Clarke was suddenly, acutely conscious of tired the bone-deep ache of having been alone in the wilderness for three months, with pups growing inside her body that needed sustenance, and the exhaustion of only having lived a week in someplace approaching civilization. But it was more: her very heart felt heavy with all of the hopes and fears that rested on it, emotions that didn’t just belong to her, but to her people. And Lexa too, she realized – because there was hope in the alpha’s eyes. She was very good at disguising it, but Clarke could see it shining through anyway. “Just leave me alone,” she said bitterly. “I’m done. Do you understand that? I _left.”_

“You can’t run away from who you are, Clarke,” Lexa said, raising her voice for the first time, although she had controlled herself enough to lower it by the time she clicked out Clarke’s name. And as much as she hated it, hated the hope and concern and knowledge she could see radiating from the alpha’s clear green gaze, Clarke knew Lexa was right. She was back in this now, for good. She was _Wanheda_ to those around her, she who commanded death. And she was Clarke Griffin to her people, who somehow always managed to save them, no matter how impossible the situation. And she was _Klark_ to Lexa, staring at her now, close enough to reach out and touch. Inanely she felt the urge to take the final step and wrap herself up in Lexa, the way she felt and smelled, and for a moment, just be _this_.

As though smelling her weakness, Lexa seemed to relax, her voice lowered and her posture less tense. “Submit to me, and your people will be safe.”

It all came rushing back the moment those words left Lexa’s lips. “ _Submit_ to you?” Clarke spat, fury and disbelief warring within her for primacy. God, she couldn’t believe she’d been this close to – what? Forgiving Lexa, or at least taking comfort in her. What could have possessed her to – _Fuck. Fucking hormones. Because we’re fucking mated, of course._ “You don’t give a damn about my people,” Clarke snarled, taking pleasure in the way Lexa’s eyes widened minutely. “I know why you’re here.”

Lexa’s body gave a visible jolt, and Clarke’s eyes widened at the sudden rush of pheromones that assaulted her. She knew, then, exactly how her words sounded, and just how Lexa had heard them. _Because of my pregnancy. Because she still wants me. Because…I still want her._ She hated it, but she couldn’t deny the flicker of desire that had sparked to life in her belly when Lexa had spoken of Clarke submitting to her. It reminded her of their first mating, how she had teased and tormented the alpha until the Commander’s dominant side had been unleashed and demanded her full and total obedience. She’d just had the brief impulse to tip her head back, exposing the mark on her throat – but she managed to keep from doing it.

“I made you look weak at Mount Weather,” Clarke snarled, taking a step forward and crowding into Lexa’s space. To her surprise, the alpha’s pheromones eased back instantly in the face of her aggression, and Lexa backed up. “The Ice Nation’s exploiting that. Well, if you want the power of _Wanheda,_ kill me. Take it.” Lexa’s eyes widened and she shook her head once, but Clarke wouldn’t give her the chance to refuse. “Because otherwise, go fuck yourself, because I will _never_ submit to you.”

Without realizing it, she had backed Lexa nearly to the door; the alpha’s rear hit the carved wood with a soft thump. When Lexa realized she had no further to go, she grasped for the knob as if to steady herself, breathing heavily. Clarke waited for her to say something, anything, but there was only shock and hurt and confusion in her traitorous mate’s eyes. _Good,_ she sneered to herself, and turned away. There was only a shaky breath and the soft click of the knock to tell her that Lexa had slipped away.

***

To Clarke’s shock and annoyance, Ronya arrived that afternoon to inform Clarke that she had been given the Commander’s permission to explore more of the citadel. She would not be allowed to leave the grounds of Polis tower, the handmaiden explained, and there would be guards with her for her protection at all times, but there was a scenic overlook and some gardens within the tower’s walls that she might wish to take in. Clarke prepared to deliver a scathing retort, but the girl bowed her head and backed away before she could muster one.

Infuriated, Clarke determined not to be seen outside her quarters, not _once_ , but her resolve only lasted about an hour. The warm breeze blowing through her window was calling to her, reminding her of her months in the woods. While they had been hard days, full of constant struggle – to stay fed, to stay warm, to find a safe place to sleep – they had been _free._ And while she’d often had to fight for her life, there had been a kind of peace in the fact that that had been her only responsibility.

And so, attempting to keep the shame off her face, she knocked on her door and informed her guards that she would like to be taken to see the gardens. After staring at her, stunned, for a moment, they nodded. “ _Osir na masta yu op.”_

After a long, slow ride down the creaking, rickety elevator, they emerged onto the first floor. Although she didn’t know precisely where to go, she followed her nose past a few blatantly staring servants sweeping and scrubbing out the hall, and through several doors. The rooms were distressingly opulent in a tattered sort of way, and while ordinarily Clarke might have liked to explore the antiquities they contained, she had caught the scent of fresh air and nothing would dissuade her. Her strides picked up speed and purpose as she got closer, and she figured that if she was going somewhere she shouldn’t her guards would let her know.

At last she burst out onto a balcony overlooking a vast, lush garden. It was just beginning to come into bloom and from what Clarke’s admittedly inexperienced eye could tell, it was flourishing. The rows of flowering trees and plants walked the line between wildness and careful tending, and with a pang in her heart Clarke realized she could see Lexa in every one of them. While she doubted that the Commander worked in the garden herself, it was obvious that it was well cared for. She could easily imagine Lexa walking between the trees some late spring evening, the air light and warm and smelling of magnolias. There was a tree over there, buds just beginning to sprout, and it overhung a stone bench that would be just under the gentle fall of petals. She clenched her jaw against the sudden onslaught of emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. _It’s just hormones,_ she told herself. _They’re making you stupid and weak._

“Well, if it isn’t the great _Wanheda,”_ came a gently mocking voice from her left, and Clarke whirled. Roan was slowly making his way up the steps to her overlook. While his hair was brushed and tied back in a few simple braids, and his clothes were richly furred and much cleaner, the guards following a few paces behind him made it clear that he was as much a prisoner as she.

“Well, if it isn’t Prince Roan of _Azgeda,_ ” Clarke said, matching his sardonic tone.

“How is your gilded cage treating you?” He stopped just out of her reach and folded his arms across his chest, that same infuriating glint of amusement clear in his eyes.

 _Good,_ Clarke thought. _I needed someone to yell at._ “You’re the reason I’m in this cage,” she spat, but to her frustration it didn’t deter him.

“Relax, _Wanheda,”_ he said, voice low. He advanced the last few steps to reach her, and she took a step back at the sudden cold purpose in his face. “I’m here to help you.”

To cover her discomfort, she smirked and turned away dismissively. “Sure you are.”

Roan sighed and uncrossed his arms to lean against the railing, looking across the garden towards the gates of Polis, and the bustling city beyond. After a moment, Clarke joined him. Despite the fact that he had dragged her across half the territory only to hand her back over to the one person she’d never wanted to see again, something made her believe him.

“The Commander promised to lift my banishment if I delivered you safely,” he said after a moment, looking over at her. Clarke kept her eyes forward. “She broke our deal.” _And here it is._ “I’m willing to strike a new one with you, and we both get to go home.”

“I’m already going home,” Clarke said, still not looking at him. _You’ll have to do better than that._

“Then you’ll have a chance to get what you really want.”

That incensed her. She knew he couldn’t have known about the desire she still felt for Lexa and the way she hated herself for it, or the fact that something on a primal level longed for her to go to her mate and seek the simple comfort of her presence, or her arms. She knew that couldn’t be what he was talking about, and yet it was on her mind when she whirled and snapped, “What do _you_ know about what I really want?”

His eyes gleamed and she cursed herself, but it was too late: he’d gotten to her. “I saw the look on your face when I took that hood off. You want revenge.” The deadly purposefulness of his voice made her stomach turn, but she was prepared now to rein in her emotions.

Clarke turned, making certain that her guards were still pretending not to look at her. “You want to kill her.” Roan nodded minutely, and Clarke narrowed her eyes at him. “So kill her.”

“You can get close; I can’t,” the beta said, making Clarke dart him a suspicious glance. How much could he have guessed? But Roan gave no sign of an ulterior meaning, hurrying to continue, “You’ll find a knife under your bed when you return to your room. I’ve already bought enough of the guards to get you out of here. If you do this, _Azgeda_ will take control of the Coalition, and you’ll find a strong and grateful ally in the Ice Queen.”

 _That_ Clarke certainly doubted, and from the way Roan said it he didn’t quite believe it himself. But as far as she could tell, he was being sincere in everything else: he was offering her the chance for revenge, and was prepared to help her get away with it. “Look,” Roan said, taking another step closer and lowering his voice further, his scent heavy with conviction. “We’re both trying to do what’s right for your people. _This_ is what’s right for yours.”

“ _Chit yo dula op?”_

Clarke and Roan both whirled at the same time to see their guards advancing. The looks of suspicion were far more convincing on Clarke’s than the Ice Prince’s, Clarke noted. _He wasn’t lying about buying the guards, at least._

“We had just finished talking,” Roan said smoothly, and then nodded respectfully to Clarke. “A pleasure as always, _Wanheda._ ”

Clarke sneered at him as he left – what bullshit; what an _asshole_ – but his words kept ringing in her mind like klaxons. She was barely aware of her guards gently but firmly leading her back to her room; a red mist seemed to have descended over her mind. As soon as she was left alone, she hurried to her bed and sat, feeling carefully under the mattress. It only took a few moments before her fingers met smooth, rounded metal. She slid her hand carefully further under the mattress until it curled around a grip that felt strangely textured to her; when she withdrew what she had, she saw that it was bone.

So Roan had been telling the truth. He had given her the means to get her revenge on Lexa and to escape after, although in truth her own life meant little to her. He had even hinted at how she might accomplish it, even if he hadn’t known what he was saying. It would be easy – all she’d have to do was let someone know that she had reconsidered, that she wished to speak to the Commander alone. Eager for a reconciliation, Lexa would believe it. What she would _not_ believe was that Clarke was treacherous enough – and angry enough – to lure her into this trap.

The Clarke Griffin that Lexa had abandoned on the Mountain wouldn’t have been, she thought grimly, squeezing the dagger’s hilt. But she was not that Clarke Griffin; she was _Wanheda._ Lexa thought she knew her, but she didn’t, and that would be her undoing. _I can do this,_ she told herself, testing the sentiment in her mind. “I can do this,” she said aloud, and her hand gripped the dagger so hard that its hilt dug painfully into her palm. It sounded good; it sounded true.

Lexa might be the Commander, but Clarke was _Wanheda._ And if _Heda_ could abandon her mate to die at the Mountain, then the Commander of Death could kill her for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigedasleng:**
> 
> _Ai gaf gon we kom towa, en chek Polis au:_ I want to leave the tower, and explore Polis.  
>  _Em pleni:_ Enough  
>  _Bants:_ Leave  
>  _Osir na masta yu op:_ We will follow you.  
>  _Chit yo dula op:_ What are you two doing?


	5. the two of us a big bang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey kru, sorry for the late update but it was kind of a long day for me yesterday. However, this chapter has a scene that a lot of you have been asking about! I hope I've done it justice. As always, let me know your thoughts in the comments and/or hit me up on tumblr @n1ghtwr1ter!
> 
> [](http://s558.photobucket.com/user/calfaolan/media/green78%20-%20young%20gods%20cover_zpsi9hmjfrz.jpg.html)  
> 

_It could have gone worse,_ Lexa told herself, in the interest of staving off her anxiety. _This was only the first move; the game is just beginning._ It was hard to make herself believe that, though, when her hidden gambit was steadfastly refusing to take the board, and her opponent was busily setting their pieces in motion. And it was hard not to be anxious when the stake for that game was her life.

Not that she held her life particularly dear. _You are a vessel,_ she could hear Titus saying, echoing throughout her time as a Nightblood and, finally, during the Ceremony of Ascension, in which she took Command. _You carry the Flame within you and you will follow the Spirit, but it does not end with you. Death is not the end, because when you die the Spirit will carry on, and carry you with it. The Commander’s fight is never over._ She often ran these words through her mind when she was under pressure; their familiar cadences served to soothe her, focus her, and remind her of her purpose.

But they were not helping her today, because while she knew the truth of them, better than anyone alive, she also knew that they were false. As she stood on a grassy knoll by Titus, watching her Nightbloods train with quarterstaves, she found herself picking out each of their weaknesses and seeing exactly how they were made vulnerable. They were very young…she too had been that young once, but there was no room for weakness in this world – not now.

Because if she died – she’d run through the scenario half a thousand times in her head, working through each possible implication – then the entire tapestry she’d spent her time as _Heda_ trying to weave would come unraveled, thread by thread. The new Commander – her eyes snapped to Aden of their own accord – would be young, untested, and unproven, and although the Spirit would guide its chosen there would be little it could do. _Azgeda_ would kill Clarke – publicly, and likely brutally – and claim _Wanheda’s_ power for their own. Nia would declare that it was her right, as strongest, to lead the Coalition, and many would flock to their banner out of fear or greed or bloodthirst. _Trikru_ would lead the resistance, as they would never bow to their ancestral enemies. The Coalition would dissolve into blood and chaos, and the war she’d waged to forge it, on the battlefield and at the treaty table, would be for nothing. That would be her legacy: blood and death.

 _You are too much in your own head, Seken._ Anya’s voice cut through the increasing gloom of her thoughts loud and clear, and she remembered: the tall, proud alpha who had taken her from her home, from parents she could not remember, and brought her to the capitol. That same alpha who’d taken her rage and placed a quarterstaff in her hand instead, and told her to strike at her as many times as it took to get a hit on her. She had unleashed wave after wave of fury at her mentor, and her blows had not connected once. _You can’t move forward, and it’s giving you too much time to think._ That had been half of the advice Anya had given her in those first few years, and apparently she needed reminding of it even now.

 _“Hod op,”_ she called out, raising her hand, and the practicing Nightbloods all stopped instantly, turning to her and standing at attention. “You will spar with me now, one by one,” she said, reaching for her own quarterstaff. “It’s been too long since I practiced with you, and I want to see if you’ve been listening to Titus.”

She heard the man in question let out a low, angry sigh. “ _Heda…_ ”

“ _Nou mou, Tytos.”_ Stepping into the sparring ring, she pointed her staff at Riel, one of the youngest novitiates. “ _Natblida. Jomp ai op.”_

Lexa was pleased to see the girl hurry into position, getting her staff up in a careful guard, before beginning to circle. When she had left Polis to see to the _Skaikru_ and to carry out her war with Mount Weather, Riel had been a terrified little thing, refusing to make eye contact with anyone and speaking to her boots in a low mumble. She praised the little girl’s movements, carefully matching her steps, but when she faltered Lexa was swift to take advantage. One low sweep of her staff and Riel hit the ground, landing hard on her rump. The alpha watched her carefully, seeing her lower lip start to tremble, but under the watchful eye of her Commander the tears welling up did not fall. Jutting out her jaw, Riel climbed to her feet, picked up her staff, and gamely got back into guard position.

Lexa sparred gently with her for a few more minutes before nodding at her approvingly and sending her back to join the others. One by one she called each of her novitiates into the circle, working her way up by age and skill. She tailored her abilities to each of their respective skill levels, but whenever she saw a missed step or an opening she exploited them swiftly and thoroughly. The lesson had to be learned, and learned well: there was no room in a Commander for weakness.

By the time she reached the oldest three, she had begun to sweat lightly, and was occasionally finding herself hard-pressed to parry a particularly clever attack, or batter down a strong defense. She could feel pride glowing to life in her chest at how well these oldest students were performing, but she pushed it down. _There is only one Heda._ She knew which one was the most promising, the most likely to Ascend after her death, but she also knew that only one of the Nightbloods would survive the Conclave. It did not do to get too attached to any of them, because as much as she might think she knew whom the Spirit would choose, it was never a certain thing. She herself was proof of that – there had been others, stronger, larger, better-skilled, and yet she’d been the last alive. Ultimately, there was only one quality that truly determined the Spirit’s choice: the will to survive.

She tried not to think of it as she dueled Aden, tried not to imagine the bright-eyed boy before her lying blood-streaked and lifeless among the others who had failed. But when she envisioned his success, standing, as she had, covered in the black blood of those she had trained with for years, and more pouring from the wounds that they’d given her, it was almost worse.

Aden took advantage of her momentary lapse to dart in swiftly, striking her hard enough in the face to snap her head back. She curtailed a snarl as she turned, eyebrows raised. His face looked caught between pride and nervousness – he had just struck his _Heda,_ after all – but it was quick to light up when she offered him praise. “Good, Aden. Again!” She launched herself at him once more, beginning a furious flurry of strikes.

Shortly after they started, she noticed a messenger rushing up the knoll, hurrying to whisper in Titus’s ear. Lexa knew the message must be for her when the _Fleimkepa’s_ gaze snapped to her, but he let them spar for a few more minutes before beginning to make his way down the hill to her, face grimmer than usual. After parrying one of Aden’s strikes, she warned him off with a hand and turned to face her teacher.

“ _You, Natblida! Gouba tu raun en kigon yo granplei,”_ Titus ordered in a ringing voice as Lexa strode towards him. The novitiates obeyed, and soon the air was filled with the sound of their efforts.

When Lexa neared, Titus lowered his head respectfully and murmured, “ _Heda,_ the delegates have started to arrive.” The alpha nodded, making her way to the top of the hill that led down to Polis’s gates. She let her gaze sweep across her city, lingering on the flame that burned, day and night, at the tower’s apex, as she took in one last breath of the warm evening air. She would need to head back to her tower, bathe, and put on clothing suitable for receiving the ambassadors of the Twelve Clans, before making certain that everything was ready for their arrival, and that all preparations were in place for the Summit. But then, of course, there was her gambit to consider – _No,_ Lexa told herself. _You cannot dwell on that. Clarke will see reason._

Just when she had begun to work on making herself believe that, however, she became aware of Titus’s presence at her side. She could tell by the worry seeping through his scent that he had something to say to her, and she was fairly certain she knew what it was. “You still think the Summit is a bad idea,” she said. She did not look at him, but she could tell that he was keeping his eyes submissively glued to the grass. Remembering their last confrontation, she had to curtail a wince. Titus was her oldest, most steadfast advisor, and her teacher before that. If there was one thing she was certain of, it was that he had the best interests of her people – and of the Commander – at heart. It was foolish of her to have hoped that these two parts of her life – Clarke, and her position as _Heda_ – could have integrated without tension, but she could not help herself. _Then I am a fool._

“You mean well, _Heda,”_ Titus said gently, and Lexa turned to look at him. His eyes were full of care, but grave. “But now is not the time for good intentions. Your enemies are circling; Nia moves against you. Your focus should be there.” Lexa bit her lip against snapping that she knew very well what her focus should be, and did not need Titus to tell her. A wise leader did not dismiss the words of voices she did not like, but paid even better attention.

“Instead, you antagonize her needlessly,” he continued, “by offering _Skaikru_ a seat at your table.” _That_ she could not allow to go unchallenged.

“I am not afraid of war,” she said, lifting her lip just enough to show him her displeasure. But that proved to be the opening he needed.

“Why are you doing this?” he said, no longer speaking in the voice of her councilor but in the voice of the man who had trained her, guided her, practically raised her. She returned her gaze to the city, abruptly unwilling – or unable – to look at him. “The Sky People are here to negotiate a treaty, not join the Coalition. They didn’t ask for this. And not one of the Twelve Clans will accept it.”

“I have told you that they _will_ accept it,” she said, firmly but without a trace of the seething stew of anxiety and rage she felt bubbling under her skin. She was not going to make her case to him by snarling and forcing him to submit; if anything, that would only make him more bullheaded. She needed to project an image of calm and levelheadedness that would prove to him that she had thought this through. And she had – even if the linchpin of her plan still refused to take its place. “They will see _Wanheda_ bow before me.”

Titus was sighing before she even finished speaking. “She will not even _see_ you, _Heda.”_ What kept Lexa from snarling at him to mind his place was the worry and exhaustion in his eyes that he wasn’t even bothering to hide any longer. Lifting her chin, she forced herself to count the lights of her city as they flickered on in the gathering dusk. She only got to thirteen before Titus’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Yet everything you do elevates her. Why?”

She knew that the best course of action would be to say nothing, and yet her heart spoke before her head could quiet it. “Clarke elevates herself,” she said, fighting back the pride and love and desperate hope that swelled in her chest. “She’s special.”

It was the wrong thing to say. “ _You’re_ special, _Heda,_ ” Titus said, and the urgency in his voice finally made her turn to face him. “I’ve been the _fleimkepa_ for four Commanders, and none of them has done what you have. We are _so_ close to our goal. I beg you, do not allow yourself to become distracted because she is an attractive omega.”

Fury swelled in Lexa’s throat, vibrating in her chest, but she did not let it free. Better that Titus thought her feelings for Clarke were mere desire – if he knew the truth of their depth… Lexa could not imagine what he might do. Her teacher was clearly very worried, as concerned as she’d ever seen him in her life. And as much as Titus’s duty was to serve her, it was, above all else, to serve _Heda._ She trusted Titus with her own life, but she must never forget that his allegiance was to her position, not to her.

Unwittingly, his next words served to drive her revelation home: “You know what must be done.” A chill swept through Lexa; she knew what he was going to say. “I have told you before. You must strike her down. Take her power, so that all may see who truly commands death.”

A snarl ripped itself from her chest before she could hold it back. “I will _never_ do that, Titus,” she said, her voice ringing with deadly force. “And I never want to hear you suggest it again. Do you understand?”

 _“Sha, Heda,”_ he murmured, eyes on the ground, but she could hear it again in his voice as she swept past him: the worry, the confusion, the _disappointment._ And that was worst of all.

***

She rode her horse at the swiftest advisable pace back down the gently sloping ridge to Polis and through its streets. She was largely unhindered by the evening traffic, merchants packing up their stalls and returning their unsold wares to storehouses; laborers returning from their dusty toil, covered in sweat and earth; the day guard giving way to their replacements; all gave way before their _Heda._ Ordinarily she might have paused to greet a few of her citizens, ask about the earliest fruits of the harvest, or bless a few babies with a kiss, but she did not stop. Her mind was too much in turmoil, and she knew that the best way to soothe it, if she could not keep sparring, was to throw herself into her work.

And so she did. Her mind wanted to fly off in all directions but she forced herself to double down, to focus on rooming arrangements and seating charts and all the rest of the diplomatic puzzle-solving that seemed so trivial, yet meant so much. _Floudonkru_ could not be quartered adjacent to _Sangedakru,_ as their ambassadors hated each other; _Delfikru_ could not be even be housed on the same floor as _Trishana_ or _Yujleda,_ as their religious beliefs directly contradicted one another and they had each declared the other’s gods devils; and there was more, plenty more where that came from. When she had first started learning the politics of her people there had been so much of it that her head had begun to spin, but she had forced herself to focus on it until she had mastered it. She had always been good at that.

Before she could fully immerse herself in the details of her grand summit, however, one of the handmaidens she had assigned specifically to Clarke came and found her in her throne room, ordering the placement of new tapestries in the _Podakru_ ambassador’s quarters. The woman waited, head bowed, while she spoke with the weavers, but Lexa could tell from the way her scent vibrated with impatience that she had something important to say. And yes, there were others who demanded her attention and advice, and who had come for it before the handmaiden, but Lexa caught the faint smell of _Clarke_ wafting from her and, when she had finished, waved her to the front of the line.

“ _Chit yu gaf in?”_ she said as gently as she could, struggling to control the excitement that wanted to roughen her voice and strengthen the pheromones pouring from her. The beta before her looked nervous enough as it was.

“ _Wanheda don as chich yu op, Heda,”_ the girl said, keeping her head bowed. Lexa wondered whether her nervousness was more due to being in the presence of the Commander, or due to Clarke’s behavior. Either way, she felt for the girl – it could not be easy being caught between _Heda_ and _Wanheda._

“ _Mochof,”_ she said, turning to Ryko, her seneschal. “Please find Brekka and tell her to take my place. I am needed elsewhere for the foreseeable future.”

He nodded, looking only a little worried, and she tried to keep the bounce out of her step as she strode off her dais and swept out of the room.

Once she reached the hall where Clarke’s room was located, however, she forced herself to slow down, to recover some of the gravitas of who she was supposed to be. It wouldn’t do to allow Clarke to see just how eager she was. It was harder to tamp down her troublesome thoughts: _She wanted to see me. No, she_ asked _to see me. Perhaps she felt she_ needed _to see me, and while she does not_ want _to she had to ask anyway. But what if she_ did _want to see me?_ Jok, _I should have asked the handmaiden how she said it… No!_ Shof op, branwada! _Get a hold of yourself._

When she turned the corner, the guards that she’d set on Clarke’s door stiffened into their sharpest poses of attention, and she lifted her chin in acknowledgement. Then she stepped forward…and hesitated. Should she knock? Would Clarke appreciate that? Or would Clarke sneer at her attempts at gentility, and see them as weakness, or as asking her for something she was not prepared to give? She became aware of the door guards shifting uncomfortably as she deliberated, and her alpha roared, _You are Heda! Heda does not knock!_

Striding forward, she pushed open the doors with a bang. Clarke’s back was to her, and she did not turn when Lexa entered. “You wanted to see me?” the alpha said loudly, as though Clarke might have somehow failed to notice her entrance. Clarke’s back and scent became noticeably more tense, but the omega did not respond. Impatience gathered in Lexa, and she stepped forward, saying, “Clarke –”

Her only warning was a surge in Clarke’s scent before the omega whirled and lunged. She staggered back against the Sky girl’s weight before catching herself. They were pressed together almost fully, so close that she could feel Clarke trembling. The only thing that she felt more keenly was the cold edge of steel against the soft skin of her neck.

She didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe. It didn’t enter her mind that she knew six different ways of disarming Clarke; that she could call for her guards and a sharpshooter could remove the threat before the omega could make a cut; that she could do anything but stand there and wait. She couldn’t be sure whether the tempest she felt swirling inside of her was her own emotions, chasing back and forth between anger, fear, and heartache; or the scent swirling up from Clarke, bittersweet and addictive. And there it was – the slight change, the undercurrent, that told her _everything_. That was ultimately what broke her.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a near-whisper, eyes flickering across Clarke’s face, twisted with sorrow, pain, and fury, eyes shining with unspent tears. At her words, Clarke’s body jerked with what might have been a sob had she not strangled it in her throat. She shook her head wildly, as though denying Lexa’s words or their truth, but she knew Clarke had heard her. Swallowing hard, the edge of the knife scraping across her skin, she said, “I never meant for any of this to happen.”

This time Clarke could not choke back her sob completely. Shoving Lexa back from her a pace, she turned away to hide her face, shoulders shaking. Lexa wanted more than anything to reach out, to enfold her in her arms, to offer some kind of comfort, but she knew that her embrace held no comfort for Clarke anymore. For a moment despair gripped her, with the thought that they might never be what they had been, even after a hundred years of Lexa patiently waiting and doing all she could to prove her loyalty to her mate. She turned to leave, preparing to tell Clarke that her people were here and that she would be allowed to leave with them, and no more would be asked of her. She knew that it was the right choice. But she couldn’t do it – not without trying to make Clarke understand _why_ she had abandoned her mate at the Mountain.

“Clarke, I want you to know that what I did was – I can’t have you thinking that – I…” She trailed off, clenching her fist. This was harder than she’d thought, harder than she’d imagined it going one hundred and ten times, and she had imagined it being pretty hard.

“I don’t want to hear your excuses, Lexa.” Clarke’s voice was dull, but she could smell the pain radiating from her in waves. It staggered her with its intensity, almost as though it were her own. The mark on her neck throbbed.

“Not an excuse – an explanation,” she finally managed to force out. Clarke turned then, and her look was nothing but exhausted rage.

“I don’t know how you think you can explain it, but –” She waved the knife, gesturing for Lexa to try.

The alpha drew a deep, shaking breath. As was usual when it came to Clarke, her words didn’t want to come – but right now she had no choice. She couldn’t let this chance go by without telling Clarke what had truly happened that night.

“When we took the ridge…they were waiting for us. They laid down their weapons without firing a shot. My warriors were ready to slit all of their throats, but one of them – the one you call Emerson – told me he had something I needed to hear.” Lexa drew a steadying breath.

“And you listened to him?” Clarke’s voice was low and toneless, but Lexa heard the danger in it anyway.

“Yes. The _Maunon_ were monsters, _kripa_ , but they were not stupid. They would not offer challenge and then lay down their arms for nothing.” She waited to see if Clarke had any further comment, but when the omega did not answer she swallowed and continued. “Emerson had a radio attached to his jacket. He offered it to me, and when I took it their leader, Cage Wallace, spoke to me.” Clarke’s head jerked as though to look at her, but she stopped before she could make eye contact.

“Go on.”

“He told me that he had a deal to offer me. I laughed at him, said that you would have the door open within moments if you did not already, and the only thing he had left to offer me was his surrender. He said that his people faced annihilation at the hands of ours, but our casualties would be greater than I could imagine.” Lexa had started telling her story in a flat, expressionless voice, just a recounting of the facts, but as the emotions of the night began to return to her – the thrill of victory just within her grasp, the sense of apprehension as she approached the hissing radio, the sudden drop in her stomach when she realized what Cage was saying – her words began gathering in feeling and .

“I told him that we were not afraid to fight and die for our people trapped inside his Mountain, but he said that we would not be the ones who would suffer most. They still had six missiles within their silo; two of them could launch the moment he gave the order, and the other four were primed and could be programmed with their targets within minutes.”

“And what were their targets?” Clarke said, still in the same low, dead voice, but this time Lexa could hear the emotion trembling beneath it. She sucked in a breath.

“The four nearest large _Trikru_ villages…my city, Polis, and…Arkadia.”

Clarke turned, and Lexa’s heart broke all over again. The tears that had been pooling in the omega’s eyes were running down her cheeks, and her eyes were full of such agony that Lexa could hardly bear to look at them. But she forced herself to hold Clarke’s gaze. She owed that to her, and so much more.

“So you just – what? Made the decision for me?” Clarke’s voice was thick with tears and betrayal. “We were _mates_ , Lexa. We were the leaders of our people but more than that we were mates. We were supposed to be a team, to decide these things together. And you didn’t even tell me that there was a decision to be made.”

“I couldn’t,” Lexa said, her own words cracked and broken. She could feel a pressure at her temples, as though everything she’d refused to let herself feel had been shoved back behind them and it was now trying to get out. But she forced herself to continue; somehow, she had to make Clarke understand how hard it had been for her, how _impossible –_ and why she’d made herself do it anyway. “I couldn’t do that to you. I couldn’t let you know that there might have been another way, if only you had been willing to sacrifice your people for it. I could not let you bear that burden.”

Something she said seemed to have struck a chord in Clarke, because her face paled abruptly and her eyes filled with ghosts. “I bear it so they don’t have to,” she murmured.

Lexa frowned even as she blinked back tears of her own that were finally threatening to fall. “What do you –”

Clarke was already shaking her head. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

The quickness with which she said it, and the way she wouldn’t look at Lexa when she did, told the alpha that it did, in fact, matter a great deal, but she chose not to pursue it. Swallowing hard against the hoarseness she could feel in her throat, she said, “I know this doesn’t change what I did, Clarke, and I’m not asking you to forgive me. I just…I want to _try,_ so that maybe, someday, we can reach some kind of understanding between us, especially with you being –”

Clarke jerked away abruptly, turning so that her shoulder was to Lexa. If she had somehow failed to read that gesture, the arm she slung around her still-flat middle would have told the alpha everything. She felt her heart break yet again, but this time it wasn’t for what they’d had, but what could have been. Clarke didn’t trust her, would _never_ trust her; that much was clear. And why should she? Why should an omega, _any_ omega, let alone one with as large of a target on their back as Clarke, trust an alpha who would leave them and the litter they bore to die?

Lexa turned for the door, feeling as though her heart had liquefied and was slowly draining down into a cold puddle in her stomach. There was clearly no more to be said here; she had made her choice, and so had Clarke. “Your mother is here; I will have you escorted to her,” she said in a dead, flat voice. “You’re free to go.”

Clarke’s head snapped up. “What happened to the summit?”

Lexa shook her head, fighting back the urge to sigh. “Whatever fate wills. I can ask nothing more of you.”

There was silence from the omega as she signaled for her guards to unlock the door, and silence as she opened it. She would not let herself look back. She would not look on Clarke’s face again; in this she was determined. Clarke would return to Arkadia and Lexa would do everything she could to make certain that her existence was a peaceful one, but she could do no more. She would not impose her presence on the omega any further.

“Wait.”

Lexa stopped, hand on the knob. She hadn’t even thought about it; her feet had just refused to continue moving against her mate’s command. Despite her earlier resolution, she couldn’t resist turning once more to look at Clarke. The omega’s eyes were still red and puffy, but her tears had dried, and the bright light of purpose shone in them. “I have a better idea.”

Slowly, still not quite certain that this was happening, Lexa let the door fall shut once more and turned to face Clarke squarely. “And what would that be?” She made certain to keep her tone neutral, not wanting to offer either a speck of challenge or a hint of how joyously her insides had leapt to hear Clarke’s words.

“I’ll go and talk to my mother. I’ll convince her to join the Coalition, and make _Skaikru_ the thirteenth Clan. I’ll tell her what you said, that if anyone attacks us, you’ll make certain we get justice. Is that right?” Clarke stepped closer, arms crossed over her chest, and while ordinarily Lexa’s alpha would find the posture a challenging one, it remained silent, subdued by the burden of hope weighing down her ribcage.

“Yes,” she said swiftly. “To attack you would be to attack me. The armies of the other twelve Clans would be dispatched immediately to protect you and draw the blood of those who wronged you.”

“And in order to do that, I need to…submit to you. In front of the other Clans.” Clarke stopped in front of her, just within arm’s reach, and while ordinarily Lexa would have longed to pull her closer, the sheer power of the omega’s suspicion put a damper on that impulse. Clarke’s eyes narrowed. “If I do this…you’re going to walk me through exactly what it entails.”

Lexa swallowed hard. She could tell Clarke that this was the tradition of her people, that all of the other clan leaders had done it, that if they wanted anyone to accept _Skaikru’s_ induction among their ranks, and to cease challenging Lexa’s authority, they needed to do this…but that wasn’t going to change the fact that Clarke was not going to like it one bit.

But she had to do this. She had to be fully and completely honest with Clarke. For all that she tried to swallow it, she could not change what the omega meant to her. She had made the decision to make Clarke her mate, and for better or worse, she had pledged herself to her for the rest of her life. _However short that may be._ But that did not matter; her life did not matter. What mattered was that Clarke’s people – and Clarke – would be safe. Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin.

“This is what you’ll need to do.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigedasleng:**
> 
> _Nou mou, Tytos:_ Enough, Titus.  
>  _Natblida, jomp ai op:_ Nightbloods, attack me.  
>  _Gouba tu raun en kigon yo granplei:_ Pair up and continue your training.  
>  _Floudonkru:_ Boat People  
>  _Sangedakru:_ Desert Clan  
>  _Delfikru:_ Delphi Clan  
>  _Trishana:_ Glowing Forest  
>  _Yujleda:_ Broadleaf  
>  _Chit yu gaf in:_ What do you need?  
>  _Wanheda don as chich yu op, Heda:_ Wanheda has asked to speak with you, Commander.  
>  _Mochof:_ thank you  
>  _Kripa:_ demons


	6. empire of our own

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK kru! At this point we’re done with the establishing shots of the season, and are starting to get into the full swing of things. Stuff is going to be moving a lot faster now. Let me know what you thought of my take on this bit @n1ghtwr1ter on tumblr!
> 
> [](http://s558.photobucket.com/user/calfaolan/media/green78%20-%20young%20gods%20cover_zpsi9hmjfrz.jpg.html)  
> 

Polis tower had never been quiet during Clarke’s time there – it was practically a thriving city in and of itself, with its own kitchens, staff quarters, laundry rooms, bathing pools… “All of which I will show you, once the summit is over,” Lexa had promised, and then, with an air of guilt, looked to the floor. “If, that is… I mean… Another guide can be found for you, if you wish.”

Clarke let her stutter on for a bit, in part because she wanted her to squirm and in part because it was, well, _adorable_ to see this proud alpha, Commander of the Twelve Clans, tripping over herself and unable to look Clarke in the eyes for more than two seconds. But eventually she took pity on Lexa. “It’s fine,” she said, giving the alpha the quick upquirk of the corners of her mouth that passed for her smile these days. “When it’s over, you can show me wherever you want.”

She was treated to a sight that made her stomach swoop like the swallows she often saw outside her window come evening: the brief, rare sunburst of Lexa’s smile. It was gone before she had time to scold herself for the way it made her feel, and she was left missing it instead.

They had made their way down several flights of steps, flanked by two sets of guards – one for Lexa, she assumed, and one for _Wanheda_ – and now were making their way down a corridor Clarke had never seen before. They shouldered past a steady stream of attendants, all heavily burdened with everything from furniture to luggage to even a massive gilded mirror that was taking three very large men to wrestle down the hall. Lexa pressed herself to the wall to let them through, and Clarke followed suit. As they went by, Lexa murmured to her, “That’s from the quarters of the _Delfikru_ ambassador. They believe that mirrors can swallow the soul and transport it to a different realm.”

Clarke stared at her. Lexa shrugged. The mirror went by, and they were moving again.

Finally they reached their destination: a large, heavy door, flanked by – of course – more guards. Both of them straightened up and saluted as Lexa approached, and she nodded at them. “ _Eting ste ait?”_

“ _Sha, Heda.”_

The Commander turned to Clarke. “Your mother and Marcus Kane are within. I figured I would give you time to explain the situation, and to…catch up.” Despite her businesslike tone, she was suddenly having difficulty meeting Clarke’s eyes again.

Clarke nodded. “I…appreciate that.”

“When it’s time to prepare for the summit, your handmaidens will fetch you. Then the horn will sound, our Singer will begin the Anthem of our people, and you will make your entry. I will be by the throne; you will be expected to walk to the steps, and…” Lexa faltered, and Clarke knew what she wasn’t saying. But the time for being angry about it had passed; at this point she only felt a sort of dull acceptance.

“I’ve got it, yeah.”

To her amusement, a slight flush appeared over the alpha’s high cheekbones. “Then I will address the Coalition. I will inform them of our purpose here, and…induct _Skaikru_ as the Thirteenth Clan.”

Somehow Clarke suspected that was a bit more complicated than Lexa was letting on, but she only nodded. “I’ll see you there.”

“I…yes,” Lexa said, before dipping her head and making a hasty exit. Clarke was ready for it, and curtailed the shudder that accompanied that loss her of her presence.

Now she found herself standing in front of the door that held Marcus Kane and her mother, whom she had not seen since she walked out the gates of Arkadia three months ago. It wasn’t necessarily that she had never expected to see Abby again, but…well, she hadn’t been sure what she was expecting back then. She had been so angry, so full of pain, that she hadn’t been able to think about a future in which she wasn’t a storm in the guise of a girl. And yet here was that future staring her in the face – more or less, she thought ruefully.

Taking a deep breath to settle the nervousness that was slowly uncoiling in her belly, she pushed through the door. The guards closed it behind her, and she was glad to see that her escort had stayed outside with them. But that left her alone with her mother.

Abby and Kane had been standing by the window, arguing in low but increasingly agitated voices. When they heard the door open, they both whirled around, Abby’s hand flying to a gun she didn’t have at her hip. The room was thick with tension, nearly enough to turn Clarke’s head, but she pushed through it and was able to accept her mother as she came flying into her arms. “Oh my god, _Clarke!”_

“Hey Mom,” she murmured, her voice a little muffled by her mother’s tight embrace. Kane approached, giving her a wry smile before placing a hand on her shoulder and squeezing. Her mother’s hug was uncomfortably tight, but that wasn’t why Clarke was soon squirming. It had been so long since anyone had held her like this, held her so firmly without the intent of restraining her, just to draw comfort from her and give comfort in return. It felt utterly alien after so long on her own, in the woods. She guessed it was just one of those things she was going to have to get used to again, like the omnipresent noise of a building with other people in it and the concept of waking up after dawn.

But she had another, larger worry than her own discomfort. Her mother was likely the only person alive who knew her scent as well as Lexa did, and thus the only other person who would be able to tell the difference between what it had been three months ago and what it was now. Who would be able to tell that she was –

“Clarke,” her mother whispered into her hair, “are you all right? Did something – did someone –”

“It’s fine, Mom,” Clarke said hastily, drawing back from Abby’s embrace. “It’s fine. But I have something important to tell you, and we don’t have much time.”

Her mother’s eyes were wide with concern and love and fear, and Clarke nearly lost herself in the desire to just let Abby be _Mom_ and to just be _Clarke,_ not the legendary _Wanheda,_ Mountain-slayer. But she resisted; she knew that she had to make them understand what Lexa was proposing, and the reason why they should accept the rulership of one who had so recently left them all for dead. So when her mother said, “Now hold on, Clarke, just let me _look_ at you for a moment!” Clarke shook her head.

“We don’t have a moment, Mom. I came to tell you that the summit’s changed. It’s not just going to be about a treaty – the ambassadors from all twelve Clans are here, and Lexa’s going to offer for us to join the Coalition.”

 _“What?”_ her mother gasped, eyes widening with shock and fury.

Clarke’s gaze flicked to Kane. She knew that her mother was the current acting Chancellor, but she also knew the beta’s views on Lexa were a lot more likely to be reasonable than Abby’s. He would be more likely to see sense, and if she could get him on her side, it would be easier to convince her mother.

“Is this about Mount Weather?” he said, concern flickering across his features.

Clarke frowned. It was possible that he meant what had happened three months ago, but from the way he said it, it sounded like something more recent had occurred. But they didn’t have _time_ to go through this – they needed to know Lexa’s terms _now._

“This is about the Ice Nation,” she said quickly, and watched their faces settle into understanding and fear. She knew that _Azgeda_ had been ranging further south for some time now, and it was likely that people from Arkadia had had contact with some of those scouting groups, but even if they hadn’t, there was no way they could have missed the big damn army marching across _Trikru_ lands. “They want Lexa dead, and they want to take over the Coalition.” She said it dispassionately, keeping her voice smooth but emphatic, but she couldn’t quench the tiny flame of fear licking across her heart.

“That’s Lexa’s concern, not ours,” her mother argued, but as Clarke had suspected, Kane stepped in.

“No, Abby. If Lexa falls, the Coalition shatters, and nothing will stop the Ice Nation from wiping us out.” He rubbed a hand over his newly bearded face.

Clarke knew that Kane was right, but the thought that _Lexa,_ who had betrayed them at the Mountain and left them for dead, was the only thing standing between _Skaikru_ and _Azgeda,_ was galling to her, and she knew it must be to Abby as well. While her mother didn’t throw her authority around like many alphas, she was very dominant and would not take this easily.

Abby’s jaw tensed, but she said nothing. Kane turned to her, subtly pumping out calming beta pheromones as he said, “You said there were new terms.”

Clarke nodded. “We become the Thirteenth Clan.”

Her mother just stared at her, but Kane turned away, pacing slowly towards the window, shoulders hunched in deep thought. Clarke could tell that he knew what that meant, and also knew how the portentous ring of the words must sound, given the history of her people.

“The Thirteenth Clan…what does that mean? That we follow Lexa?” Her mother hissed out the Commander’s name between bared teeth, and Clarke had to struggle against the urge to blanch.

“Yes,” she said, carefully keeping her voice steady.  

“We came here to negotiate a _treaty_ and to get you back, not to –”

“This is our Unity Day, Mom,” Clarke said, knowing the resonance of her words. “We can be the Thirteenth Station, or we can be the Thirteenth Clan.”

Uncertainty flickered in Abby’s eyes and filtered through her scent. Clarke knew she needed just one more push – but it wasn’t going to come from her. As she watched, her mother looked to Kane. “Marcus?”

The beta turned from where he’d been looking out the window, gazing out over Lexa’s city. Clarke could guess his thoughts; they were likely much the same ones that she’d had when she first arrived in Polis. “Clarke’s right,” he said slowly. “We need to do this. I’ve seen the Ice Nation army; we don’t stand a chance.”

Clarke remembered the thunder of hundreds of feet on the march, the way the tall grass had hissed and shifted like a stormy sea. The thought of that vast ocean of warriors ringing Arkadia, shaking their swords and spears with ringing war cries, seemed so alien in the midst of Polis’s orderly civilization, but what joined the two in her mind was Lexa. Lexa at the head of that army, raising her sword and giving the order to retreat…

Clarke shook herself back to reality, in time to see her mother looking at her in concern. Clarke gave her as reassuring a smile as she could, and Abby sighed. “So we become the Thirteenth Clan. What’s going to stop the Ice Nation?”

_“Wanheda.”_

The word was Trigedasleng, and as far as she knew her mother hadn’t acquired much of it, but it was clear from the looks on both her face and Kane’s that they’d heard it before, and knew it referred to her. Abby looked as though she wanted to protest, but Kane said, “What do we need to do?”

Clarke swallowed. This was going to be the hardest part to get her mother to accept, especially because she wasn’t fully good with it herself. But Lexa had assured her over and over that it was what needed to be done – all of the other heads of state had done it, in a public forum of their peers, and that _Skaikru_ would be treated no differently.

“All of the leaders of the twelve Clans will be assembled in Lexa’s throne room,” she said, working to keep her voice as level as possible. “Their Anthem will be sung, and I’ll come in. And then I’ll…kneel before Lexa and offer her submission.”

She didn’t elaborate on exactly what that would entail, but she didn’t have to - before Clarke had even finished, Abby was shaking her head. “No. Absolutely not. You shouldn’t have to do that, not in front of anyone and _especially_ not her.”

“It’s what all of the other Clans have done, Mom!” Clarke said, voice rising in spite of herself. “We can’t expect to truly be one of them if we aren’t willing to make the same sacrifices.”

“Then we _won’t_ become one of them,” her mother said, and Clarke could feel alpha pheromones rising from her, tugging at her to submit to Abby’s will. She hardened her jaw and narrowed her eyes at her mother, resisting the urge.

“We’ll find another way,” Abby insisted, and Clarke opened her mouth to argue, but before she could, Kane interjected, his beta scent cooling the tension between them.

“Abby, there _is_ no other way,” he said, his voice calm and level, although the tense line of his shoulders betrayed the urgency that he felt. “Clarke’s made that clear. And I’m sure she wouldn’t do this if there was.” He looked at her, raising his eyebrows, and she nodded. After a moment, her mother sighed, relaxing her shoulders.

“All right. Is there anything else?”

Clarke hesitated, worrying at her lower lip, but knew that she had no choice. “Well…because I’m not the leader of _Skaikru,_ not anymore…one of you will have to submit as well.”

Abby was already snarling, but Kane just shook his head. “We’ll do it.”

“ _Marcus –”_

“Abby, we need to do this,” he said urgently, turning to her mother and taking her gently but firmly by the shoulders. “If you were serious about what you told me earlier…this is the beginning of the path. We need to start walking it.”

Abby sighed and dropped her head, and Clarke narrowed her eyes at the pair of them. Just how close had they gotten in her absence?

“This is your dream, Marcus,” her mother said finally, raising her head to look at the beta with shining eyes. “You need to be the one to do this. You’ll do it right.” Unpinning the Chancellor’s pin from the lapel of her jacket, she held it out to Kane. With something like awe in his gaze, he took it, and nodded gravely before turning to Clarke.

“We’re ready, then,” he said. “When do we begin?”

“At sundown,” Clarke said, eyes darting to the window. The sun was dropping low over Polis’s many roofs, and the sounds of the market’s last hour drifted up from below. “We have maybe an hour. I need to go and get ready –”

“Is that going to take a whole hour?” Abby asked, a little desperately. Clarke hesitated, wanting to say yes, it would, but she knew it wouldn’t be true, and she didn’t trust herself to lie to her mother while Abby was looking at her so pleadingly. What cinched it, though, was Kane’s pointed look at her, and then his swift smile for her mother.

“If you two will excuse me, I’m going to go and ask one of the very large and very polite gentlemen on our door if he can show me to a toilet.”

Clarke and Abby both nodded and watched him go. The door shut with a thud, and Clarke was left alone with her mother.  

With a slow sinking feeling in her stomach, she turned to Abby, dreading the inevitable inquest to come. But to her surprise, Abby was looking at her with wry tenderness, shot through with concern. “How far along are you?”

Clarke blinked at her a couple of times, wondering if she had heard properly. Her mother had spoken in the matter-of-fact tone of voice she’d come to associate throughout her life with _Dr. Griffin,_ not _Mom_ or _Chancellor._ But her words didn’t seem to make sense.

Abby frowned at her. “You did realize you were pregnant, right?”

At last Clarke found her voice. “Yes, Mom, I did.” She gave her mother an exaggerated eye roll, and Abby snorted, but there was relief in her scent. “It’s been a little over three months.”

The older woman let out a breath. “And…there wasn’t anyone in between when you left and…”

Clarke shook her head. “No one who could have…gotten me this way.”

Her mother nodded, jaw working. “And do you want to keep them?”

Clarke stared at her. For some reason, the thought of terminating the pregnancy had not crossed her mind. Her pups weren’t real to her, not yet; she was more in tune with what they represented than the actuality of them. She considered her mother’s offer – because it was clear that that was what it was, an offer. Once the summit was over, she would go back to Arkadia with her mother and Kane, would greet her people but not let any of them get close enough to tell what her condition was…and then, when the crowd had dispersed, she would follow Abby to the sick bay and have an operation.

It would be over. No more morning sickness, no more worries about swelling up like a balloon and then, all of a sudden, having a litter to raise by herself…and no more constant, _physical_ reminders of Lexa’s presence in her life. Her body would still yearn for its mate, but over time, the mating mark and the physical and chemical changes it represented would fade…and there was medicine she could take, she knew, to hasten that process. It was closely rationed, but she knew that if they still had some, her mother would make certain that she got it. In a matter of months, she could be entirely free of Lexa, could be working on forgetting that the Commander even existed.

Clarke felt a pang in her heart at the thought of erasing Lexa’s presence so fully, but she pushed through it, cursing it for its weakness. Lexa being reasonably kind and accommodating to her for the last week was hardly enough reason to simply _forgive_ her for what had happened on the Mountain. _But you didn’t know the whole story then,_ a voice inside her whispered. _She did it to protect you, to protect your people, to protect your pups…even though she didn’t know it._

 _She could have told me that,_ Clarke snarled back. _But she didn’t even give me the chance to make that decision for myself. How can I raise a litter with someone like that?_ The voice had no answer.

But she couldn’t quite shake the vision it had given her, of her and Lexa somewhere in a warm room, with a fire, pups rocketing around and tumbling over each other and making all sorts of noise, as pups did. One by one they tired themselves out and were soon small shapes on the floor, dozing as Clarke and Lexa looked on. The image was so vivid that she could practically see the love blazing in her mate’s eyes as she looked on their sleeping brood, the care and protectiveness with which she would regard them –

 _Stop,_ she told herself desperately, but it was too late. Her arm crept over her stomach of its own accord, and when she glanced back at her mother, the older woman was wearing a knowing look. She gave Clarke a brisk nod. “I assume they’ve been feeding you well here?”

Clarke nodded back, a bit numbed by the gravity of the decision she’d made. “Yes. Lexa’s…they’ve made sure I have the best of everything. And I think they’ve been sneaking supplements in with my food.”

Abby frowned. “They _know?”_

“Lexa does,” Clarke hastened to explain. All of a sudden she couldn’t quite meet her mother’s eyes. “I don’t think she’s told anyone else. _I_ definitely haven’t.”

Abby sighed. “Well, that’s something at least. When you come back with us to Arkadia, I want to do an ultrasound, make certain that they’re growing properly and hopefully see how many there are. They might be giving you the right nutrition here, but three months on your own will make having a particularly large litter very difficult –”

“Mom,” Clarke burst out, stopping her mother dead in the middle of her prescription. “I don’t even know how this happened.” Her voice cracked on the last few words, and suddenly her mother’s arms were around her, her warm, parental scent soothing her, and Clarke couldn’t help the tears that leaked from her eyes. “I still have my implant. I wasn’t in heat…it shouldn’t have even been possible.”

“When did it happen?” her mother whispered, stroking her hair. “Because maybe you misjudged how far along you are, if there’s a smaller litter –”

Clarke shook her head. “No, we…it was the night before the battle at Mount Weather, and we both…” She couldn’t finish, couldn’t get the words out. Instead, she pushed back from Abby a bit, and then slowly drew the high collar of her jacket away from her neck. She wasn’t prepared for the low growl that ripped from Abby’s throat when she saw the mark.

It took her mother a moment to get control of herself, but Clarke could see that Abby was torn between seething fury and something that looked a lot like…compassion? Sadness? _Pity?_ The thought made bitterness rise in her throat and she stepped away from her mother. “It’s fine, Mom. I can handle it.”

“You shouldn’t _have_ to handle it,” Abby said, a little desperately, but Clarke shook her head.

“I’ve handled myself so far.”

The alpha sighed, raking a hand through her hair in a gesture that made Clarke’s heart twinge at its familiarity. Then she turned a wry smile on her daughter. “Well, I know you well enough to know when you’ve made up your mind. But if you were still curious…that would be why.” Her mother reached out to touch the mating mark on Clarke’s throat, and the omega felt a shock run through her. She flinched away automatically, then cringed at the sadness she saw in her mother’s eyes. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have – I know it must still be new.”

“No, it’s fine,” Clarke said, giving her a hasty approximation of a smile. “I just didn’t…know I would react that way. But what do you mean, that’s why?” She gestured to the mark, wary of touching it so soon – it was still tingling, a slight but constant reminder that it was there.

“When you mate with someone, the flood of hormones that gets released can sometimes overwhelm the implant,” Abby explained, her words carefully dry and clinical, yet she couldn’t quite meet Clarke’s eyes. “The…intensity of how the partners feel about each other can sometimes cause enough chemical change in the body to create conditions that mimic heats and ruts.” Clarke blushed, remembering – _the love in Lexa’s eyes, the desire, the need, all combining into a sudden rush that filled her body with what felt like brilliance, like light – just as Lexa’s knot had filled her then, surprising both of them…_ “It doesn’t happen very often, but it’s not unheard of,” Abby was saying, and Clarke abruptly snapped back to reality, blushing again at the memories she’d been having _in front of her mother._

The alpha was giving her a sharp look, as though she could guess some of what Clarke was thinking, and Clarke was frantically trying to come up with some way to misdirect her or head her off. But before either of them could speak, the doors opened again, revealing Kane, flanked by Clarke’s two guards. Unlike last time, they followed him in, and then bowed shortly to Clarke. “Apologies for disturbing you, _Wanheda,_ but the Commander has sent word that it is time for you to prepare for the ceremony,” one of them said.

Clarke nodded. “I’ll be on my way in a moment.” She turned back to her mother and gave her one last swift hug. “Just…try to stay calm, all right? We’re all just doing what’s best for our people.”

Abby nodded, her eyes shining with suppressed tears. “See you on the other side.”

Clarke nodded back at her, then turned to Kane. He reached out his arm for her to clasp, Grounder-style; when she took it, he said, “May we meet again.”

Clarke smiled, finding the gesture both ridiculous and comforting at the same time. “May we meet again.”

The guards escorted her back to her room, where she was greeted by several of Lexa’s handmaidens. Ronya swiftly took charge, directing the others in fast-paced Trigedasleng to strip Clarke and brush out her hair while a bath was drawn. The omega attempted, initially, to argue, but at the woman’s hard look she shut her mouth. It was easier to simply allow herself to be drawn along by the current of Ronya’s brutal efficiency.

It couldn’t have taken more than twenty minutes before she had been bathed, scrubbed until her skin felt raw, and then rubbed with perfumed oils that made Clarke feel both vaguely ridiculous and, to her consternation, somewhat desirable. The thought that she was going to go out there in a moment looking like this, and everyone was going to see her – all of the heads of the twelve Clans were going to watch as she knelt before Lexa and offered her fealty, her submission – made a warm pulse glow to life between her legs. When one of the handmaidens reached down there with brisk, businesslike hands to oil that part of her too, Clarke shook her head. “ _No. Ai na dula dei op.”_ The woman nodded, and soon Clarke was left alone to finish the job.

Once she did, she felt ridiculous all over again, but when she caught a glimpse of herself in the large, grand mirror on the far wall of the bathroom, her breath caught in her throat. Her skin gleamed like polished bronze, making her look like something fierce and beautiful, almost godlike. She might feel ridiculous, but now she truly looked the part of _Wanheda,_ Mountain-slayer, She Who Commands Death.

There was just one more thing she had to do. Reaching among the pots of paint and makeup on the counter, she grabbed a container of flesh-colored paste and rubbed generous amounts of it into her throat above the mating mark, until it was gone. Whether people would see it and associate it with Lexa, she didn’t know, but she didn’t want to take the chance.

When she stepped out of the bathroom, Ronya and her small army took over once more. Clarke was soon dressed in a long, flowing dress and a leather jerkin that hung with small trinkets and sparkling decorations. Her hair was brushed out once again, and braided, and more perfumed oils were rubbed into it. Then Ronya was standing before her, holding out a small pot of dark paint. Clarke could tell by the very familiar smell exactly what it was, but something made her freeze, staring at it.

“ _Heda don biyo yu beda lan disha op,”_ the beta said, her voice soft and somewhat reverent. Numbly, Clarke reached out and took the paint, then stepped over to the smaller mirror near her wardrobe. Feeling as though she was sleepwalking, she dipped into the pot with two fingers and ran them through the dark, greasy substance. Then, staring at herself the whole time, she swiped them carefully across her eyes. She didn’t have a design in mind, not exactly; she just knew when it was finished, because she no longer recognized the furious blue stare blazing back at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigedasleng:**
> 
>  
> 
>  _Eting ste ait?_ Is everything all right?  
>  _No. Ai na dula dei op:_ No. I will do this myself.  
>  _Heda don biyo yu beda lan disha op:_ The Commander said you should use this


	7. yumi na teik won sonraun au?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got a long one for you this week, kru. Enjoy! Let me know what you thought of my slightly modified take on the bow @n1ghtwr1ter on tumblr.
> 
> [](http://s558.photobucket.com/user/calfaolan/media/green78%20-%20young%20gods%20cover_zpsi9hmjfrz.jpg.html)  
> 

As she had gone about her day, working through the final preparations for the Summit and making certain that all of the pieces had fallen into place, Lexa had been wracked with nerves. Her entire body seemed alive with tension, as though her muscles would snap if she stood in one place for too long. So she didn’t – she conducted audiences on the move, pacing continually from one area of duty to the next and snapping terse orders at the constant stream of petitioners, workmen, and servants who trailed her. Every so often she caught the tense glances that passed between her guards and attendants, smelled their nervousness as they clearly wondered what was wrong with her.

 _What_ is _wrong with me? You’d think I was preparing for a battle, not a peace summit._

Yet it was its own kind of battle, she realized, and a pivotal one in the war that she was waging for her people’s minds and hearts. If the summit went well tonight, and _Skaikru_ were inducted into her Coalition as the Thirteenth Clan without protest, she would be that much closer to completing the circle, to spreading the wings of peace across the nations under her rule. If it went poorly, however…everything that she had fought and bled and sacrificed for her entire life could come to nothing but ashes and bones. And Clarke…

 _Do not think about Clarke,_ she told herself firmly, as she greeted the last ambassadors to arrive and made certain that they were comfortable (and not about to start a riot, or a war). _Do not think about her,_ she thought, as she argued furiously with Brenna over whether or not there would be enough bed linens for everyone, considering that _Sangedakru_ demanded fresh ones every day. _Don’t,_ she snarled at herself, tearing her gaze away from the corridor where she knew Clarke was reuniting with her mother. Her instincts were clamoring for her to be with her mate, to make certain that nothing happened to her before the ceremony that would assure her safety, but she knew she’d do far more harm than good there. Just because Clarke had agreed to go along with Lexa’s plan – suspiciously, and with many assurances that she still didn’t trust the alpha as far she could throw her – didn’t mean that they were anywhere near where they had been.

But the terrible spark of hope had taken root in Lexa’s heart, and no matter how hard she tried to stamp it out it refused to be quenched. She went about her duties with that flame slowly burning brighter in her chest, stinging terribly but wonderfully all the same.

As nightfall approached, however, Lexa found her mind growing more settled, her thoughts more focused and less frantic. This was how it always went before a battle – as the fight approached, everything began to take shape. She made peace with the fact that she had planned and prepared as best she could. All that she could do now was allow the summit to unfold. She had been in constant restless motion throughout the day, but as she bathed and then allowed her handmaidens to braid her hair and dress her for the ceremony, her mind and body were calm, clear, filled with nothing but waiting.

A low, droning horn sounded from Polis’s walls, signifying that the sun had at last dipped below the horizon and signaling for the gates to be closed. As soon as its last echoes had faded, she heard a knock on her door; one of her attendants opened it to reveal Titus, anxiety creasing his face. “ _Heda, ste taim.”_ She gave him a short nod and stepped off her dressing platform.

“ _Oso na gyon au.”_

Attendants following close on the trailing hem of her dress, she left her chambers and headed for the throne room, her steps firm and sure. She only hesitated once, before the door to Clarke’s quarters. She could feel Titus’s glare burning into her, but she ignored him, turning to Brenna instead. “Is _Wanheda_ ready?”

The older woman’s lips pressed together firmly. “She will be there, _Heda.”_

Lexa’s gut churned at the non-answer, but she only nodded and thanked the beta before resuming her march to the throne room.

When she arrived, her eyes swept the room, glancing approvingly over the state of things: the chairs for each of the clans’ ambassadors had been pushed back against the wall, allowing for each group to cluster in tight clumps facing the plinth that held her throne. As she entered, she was gratified to see that all of them lowered their eyes and heads in deference to her – yes, even _Azgeda_ , who had apparently learned from the disposal of their previous ambassador that she would not tolerate disrespect. Head held high, she strode past them and up onto the dais, where she turned to survey her subjects. She sensed Titus taking up his position behind her, and could picture his scowl very clearly in her mind.

The great fire in the central pit was banked, leaving the room glowing softly with candles, but Lexa felt herself begin to sweat anyway as the sun’s last dying sparks finally winked out. She willed herself not to look at the door, or to wonder whether Clarke would keep her word, or if she was just going to stand up here like a fool until someone asked her what she thought she was doing –

 _No,_ she told herself with all the conviction she could muster. _Clarke will come._ She knew it was not a certainty, merely a hope, but she could not keep from clinging to it.

The hall had quieted when she had arrived, its stillness broken only by low murmurs of _Heda_ when her subjects made their bows, but as the minutes stretched, a low susurrus of whispers and muttering began to grow. Lexa felt nervousness growing in her gut and quelled it sharply. Heda _does not fear her subjects,_ she told herself, raising her chin. _Clarke will come._

And then another horn sounded, lower and more somber than the one that had announced the sunset. Lexa’s heart leapt into her throat as she turned towards the Singer and gave her a single sharp nod. The woman drew a deep preparatory breath.

“ _Yumi na teik won sonraun au?”_

Clarke strode through the door, resplendent in a pale golden gown that matched the glow of her hair in the candlelight. Lexa’s breath caught in her chest, stunned into motionlessness as she watched the omega’s slow progression towards the throne. The whispers and muttering had grown even louder, audible even as the Singer’s voice filled the room. Lexa knew she should quiet them with a glare or a growl, but she couldn’t take her eyes off of Clarke.

Only this wasn’t Clarke, she realized as the omega turned around the corner of the crowd and came to face her. This was _Wanheda._ Her eyes blazed forth from the darkness of the paint layered thickly across her cheekbones. Her face was impassive in the way a statue was, or a skull; it was how Lexa had imagined looking into the face of death might be: beautiful, expressionless, and cold. She felt a shiver sweep through her entire body and could not tell whether it was from arousal or fear.

“ _Oso kik raun ogeda, solou…”_

Clarke was advancing up the carpet directly towards her, and Lexa once again felt trapped, tantalized by her gaze. Once her eyes had met Lexa’s, Clarke didn’t once look away, even though that would have been the correct thing to do: she was here to offer her submission, to let everyone see that even she who commanded death bowed before _Heda._ But Lexa couldn’t bring herself to complain, to do anything other than watch Clarke approach and allow herself to be laid bare to the soul before her gaze.

“ _Ai nou fir raun, ai mana jomp in, ai mana wan op…”_

And then Clarke had reached the bottom step of the plinth. Lexa had thought – no, _dreamed_ – about this moment many a night, stretched out alone in the silent vastness of her bed. In her imaginings, however, Clarke would not pause, but carry on up the steps to take her rightful place beside her. Hand in hand, they would stand before the assembly of their people, and the Girl from the Sky – and, later, the Girl Who Commanded Death – would be acknowledged for who she was and who she meant to Lexa: her love, her mate, her queen.

But now, as the final phrases of the Anthem passed through the Singer’s lips high and clear, promising justice for the dead and vengeance for the living, Clarke was not ascending to her side, but sinking to her knees. Heat flooded Lexa’s veins as she remembered every time she had seen Clarke do this before – those times were few, but Spirit did she remember each one of them – and she felt her clit twitch and throb. Clarke’s eyes did not leave hers even once as she did this, and her arousal was shot through with a chilly stab of guilt. Even though the entire point of it was that the eyes of her people were upon both of them, seeing what _Wanheda_ offered their Commander, something in Lexa roared that this was something private, something that should be kept only between the two of them.

When Clarke’s knees hit the floor, there was the sensation of a collective intake of breath, like fire sucking the air out of a room right before it roasted the inhabitants alive. Clarke’s eyes flashed once more, like twin licks of heat lightning, and then she bowed her head.

Suddenly it was not enough merely to breathe; she had to let her mouth fall open just a little so she could suck in great draughts of air, as quietly as she could manage. Her limbs felt loose and heavy as she descended the steps, as though she were moving through water. She paused when she reached the bottom, willing her body not to tremble and her chest not to heave. Slowly, she reached out and slid the tips of two fingers under Clarke’s lowered chin, applying only the gentlest of pressure.

When she had described this part to Clarke, the omega’s eyes had flared so furiously that Lexa had nearly given the whole thing up then and there – surely Clarke was not going to go along with it. But when she had finished stuttering out the last few phrases of her explanation, the Sky girl had only nodded. “And all of the other Clan leaders have done this?” she asked, her voice quiet and expressionless. Lexa had barely managed to force out an affirmative.

But while she had technically performed this ritual with all of the heads of the Twelve Clans after her Ascension, accepting their fealty and their submission to her will, she was rapidly coming to realize that this would be absolutely nothing like any of those previous iterations. Her fingertips burned where they touched Clarke’s skin, and when Clarke lifted her head and began to rise to her feet once more, Lexa found herself praying that the candles’ glow was soft enough to hide her full-body flush.

And then the omega was standing at her full height once more, a shade just under Lexa’s, her searing gaze making the alpha throb and pulse. Somehow Lexa found the wherewithal to slide her thumb beneath Clarke’s chin and then, ever so gently, wrapped her hands around the Sky girl’s throat. Her thumb brushed the mating scar, hidden under layers of carefully applied makeup, and her entire body _burned._ She had to press her lips tightly together to hold back a groan.

Her only consolation was that Clarke had felt it too. The omega was trembling slightly, and her eyes had gone very dark and wide where they bored into Lexa’s. They looked at each other for a moment, one that Lexa could have sworn went on for an eternity – long enough that everyone in the hall had left, that the lights had been turned out around them, that the sun had come up again and then gone down a million times until it finally winked out – and still they were standing there, just looking.

Clarke drew a breath, and then slowly tipped her chin back.

Gasps stung the silence of the hall, and then the muted buzzing of what sounded like thousands of hornets. But all of this barely registered to Lexa; her world had narrowed to the pulse fluttering wildly beneath the pad of her thumb, and to the barely distinguishable ridge of the scar just above it. She was certain that her own heart was thumping just as hard – she could feel it beating crazily against the cage of her chest like a trapped bird. But it was pounding between her legs as well, and she knew that if she didn’t get control of herself in short order this ritual would become a farce. So she let her hand fall to Clarke’s shoulder, thumb resting in the hollow between her collarbone and shoulder, and then she slowly leaned in.

Lexa had schooled herself firmly not to think about the night she had made the mark that bound them together forever. But as she got closer and closer to it, and to the source of Clarke’s captivating scent, it become much more difficult to remember why she shouldn’t. Vivid flashes of soft skin, tangled limbs, greedy mouths and clutching silk assaulted her with every pump of her heart, and she felt her mouth begin to water. Her instincts were rising, urging her to make this gesture more than a ritual – to press her mouth to her omega’s throat and reestablish her claim.

 _You can’t,_ she growled at herself. _You will expose yourself and Clarke in front of all of your subjects, and her people will be in worse danger than ever before._ But these arguments sounded shrill and far away compared to the alpha imperative pounding in her brain, the blood thumping in her ears:

_She is yours. Your mate, your omega. Take her. Claim her. Show them whose pups she carries. Make them see who see belongs to._

Her alpha wanted to forget that this was a sacred ritual, that the survival of Clarke’s people, and likely her coalition, rode upon its going well; it wanted to ignore the fact that not only were the eyes of her nations upon them, but Clarke’s mother and many of her people besides, and if she were to do as her instincts demanded they would certainly never play their part in the ceremony. All her alpha could see was the arch of Clarke’s throat, begging for her to sink her teeth into it; and the fabric covering the generous curves of her hips and breasts, which demanded to be exposed to her hands and teeth. But above all else, her smell – racing like fire from Lexa’s nose through her veins, setting her every nerve alight and tingling. She had to force back a groan as she felt the swollen bud of her clit give a heavy twitch.

But that also served to focus her, reminding her of what she was doing here. Breathing as shallowly as she possibly could, Lexa closed the rest of the distance between Clarke’s throat and her mouth.

The moment her lips touched the omega’s skin, she felt Clarke give a full-body shudder against her. That, combined with the sudden surge of arousal filtering through the Sky girl’s scent, was nearly her undoing. It had been one thing when she’d thought she was the only one needy and throbbing, but to know that Clarke wanted her too…

The omega’s breath hitched unevenly, abruptly reminding her that no matter how much Clarke smelled like hers, how close and warm her body felt against Lexa’s, she had no right to take her like this – not now, not ever. Shaking with the shame of what her instincts had wanted her to do, she opened her mouth and gently pressed her teeth against Clarke’s skin. The ritual symbolic bite only lasted for a moment, but the roaring in Lexa’s ears and the blood racing towards her center made it feel like a lifetime. She felt as though they were the eye of a storm of their combined scents, pheromones and hormones mingling and twining together like two pieces of a puzzle imbued with the command to _fit, fit._ And she knew Clarke felt it too, how much this moment echoed the one in which they had first made the bite. People often said that _eyes can lie, tongues can deceive, but the scent is the mirror to the soul,_ and how true that was!

She stepped away, dizzy with the power of all that she felt and the effort that it took not to press her claim. As soon as they could, Clarke’s eyes snapped to meet hers, and she gasped at the way they _blazed_. Clarke knew her down to her core, knew exactly what Lexa’s alpha had been roaring for her to do – and knew what it had taken from her not to follow her instincts. Very slowly, she nodded once. Tingling with shock and relief, Lexa returned it.

All at once the world seemed to return. Lexa became aware of the hundreds of people in the room sinking to their knees, bending their eyes to the floor. She alone stood out of everyone in the room – she and Clarke. Lexa felt a thrill – her power over them was restored to its peak, the way it had been when she had first Ascended, had first sat the throne bloody and broken inside but unbending. The knowledge that they all awaited her command carried much the same weight, but she could not deny the charge it sent coursing through her veins.

When she spoke, her voice came out clear and strong: “Hail, warriors of the Twelve Clans.”

“Hail, Commander of the Blood,” returned to her from a hundred throats.

“Rise,” she said. Clarke stepped back then, her look fierce and knowing: _See what I have done for you._

Lexa took a deep breath, returning it: _I see. I know. I will honor this sacrifice._

Clarke moved away from her to stand with her people, and Lexa felt her heart wrench to join her mate, but she held her body firm and forced herself to look away.

“We welcome _Skaikru_ into our halls in the spirit of peace and friendship,” she said, letting her gaze sweep across the assembly. “And we welcome _Klark kom Skaikru,_ legendary _Wanheda,_ Mountain-slayer.” Her eyes met Clarke’s, and the Sky girl gave a small nod of what Lexa thought to be approval.

“The reason for this summit has changed,” she said. “We are no longer here to negotiate a treaty, but to initiate _Skaikru_ into our Coalition, as the Thirteenth Clan.” She had not said all that she needed to say but she paused anyway, anticipating the sudden hum of voices, the buzzing of a kicked hornet’s nest. Eyes widened and skittered around the room, seeking those they thought might hold answers; mouths moved in low mutters of confusion, shock, outrage. It was almost funny, she thought, how easily words that changed the world could trip off the tongue.

Lexa let them go on for a time, knowing that they needed to express their disbelief and fury; to do otherwise would have been to look hasty, unwilling to allow dissent. When most of the noise had died down, she said, “To symbolize this union, the leader of _Skaikru_ will bear our mark, and will offer us their submission.”

Now she turned to Abby and Kane. She was vaguely aware of the tension between them, brought on by two different outlooks. Indra had told her of Kane’s wonder and delight upon his first entrance to Polis, and his desire to take in more of its sights. She had also relayed Abby Griffin’s more cautious stance, her too-brief smiles and her distrustful glances. Lexa knew that Clarke’s people considered Abby to be their elected leader, even if Clarke was their spiritual one; she didn’t quite understand why they insisted upon the distinction, but that was their business. All she cared about was that one of them would step forward to offer her their fealty.

She watched as Kane and Abby conferred quietly with one another, mostly through meaningful glances, and she wondered just how deeply the connection between them ran. At last, Clarke’s mother murmured something, and Kane nodded, before turning to Lexa and offering her a short bow. She acknowledged him with a tilt of her chin, and he stepped forward.

Now came the somewhat difficult part. Kane’s submission would not be as complete as what she had required from Clarke; the omega’s had been a set piece, a show to emphasize _Heda’_ s power, but this was an official gesture. And one, she realized, Kane would have no idea how to perform. Lowering her voice so that it would be audible only to those at the nearest edges of the crowd, she told him, “Kneel, Marcus of the Sky People.” A bit stiffly, he followed her order, bowing his head without being told. Then, with a somewhat firmer grip than she had used on Clarke, Lexa reached under his chin and took hold of his throat, placing her thumb on his pulse point – the spot that would have held a mating mark.

His body relaxed, became pliable to her will, and with a slight exertion of pheromones she was able to draw him back to his feet, looking at her with the slightly glazed look of someone who was under an alpha’s dominion. A gentle flick of her thumb against the underside of his chin was enough to convince him to raise it, showing her his throat. She dropped her hand, let him stay like that for a moment, and then nodded. His submission had been accepted.

He lowered his chin with a somewhat dazed look of relief, and then nodded back at her, a little more deeply. Lexa searched his eyes but could find no animosity there, only acceptance, and she let out a silent sigh of relief. This was always much more difficult with alphas; that Marcus was a beta was a somewhat uncommon quality in a leader, but not an unknown one. Her eyes darted to the captive _Azgeda_ prince, a beta also; she wondered what sort of a leader he’d make, with his mother out of the way – but that was for later.

“Present your arm,” she told him, and then nodded sharply at the keeper of the _fleimstika,_ which bore her symbol. Kane swallowed hard, then rolled up his sleeve, doing as she asked. She saw his eyes widen a bit as he took in the crackling embers and the heated steel of the branding iron, but he didn’t demur. The iron was pressed to his flesh with a sickening hiss, and Lexa had to clench her jaw, but she didn’t look away. _Don’t faint,_ she willed the _Skaikru_ beta. _You wouldn’t be the first to have done so but you already have far to go in proving your people’s worth. Don’t make them look weak._

To her approval, Kane only let out a low groan of pain, and then it was over. The room was scented with the faint smell of burning flesh, but it soon swirled away as the keeper quenched his iron with a smoky hiss. As Clarke’s mother hurried to his side, eyeing the mark and murmuring something to him, Lexa glanced around the room. Her people were still in varying states of shock and outrage, but there was grudging approval in their faces as well. Kane had taken the brand well, and so far none of the Sky People’s actions could be called into question. Lexa allowed the set of her shoulders to relax, just a bit, giving herself a brief moment of hope that the summit might go smoothly.

That was when the _Skaikru_ burst in.

Lexa counted three of them, two of whom she recognized: Bellamy Blake and his omega sister, Octavia, who was mated to _Linkon kom no kru._ She heard Indra give a low hiss of recognition at the sight of her former Second, eyes wild and face streaked with dirt. The third man with them stank of alpha and agitation, his eyes darting around the room and the muzzle of his rifle following, as though he could not decide who to shoot first. She was trying to decide if she knew him when another uproar rose from the small cluster at the gate: Bellamy had seized one of the guards and was pressing a pistol to the man’s throat.

“What is the meaning of this?” Titus barked.

The alpha boy shoved his hostage aside, stepping forward. “The summit’s a trap,” he said loudly, his eyes fixed on Clarke. Lexa narrowed her eyes at him, fists clenching as she attempted to keep herself from springing at him, to stay calm and regain control of the situation. If it came to a fight, she had no doubt that she would be able to disarm him and at least one of the others, but she couldn’t outrun a bullet. Either Clarke would get shot, or she would, if the _Skaikru_ decided to open fire.

“Bellamy, what the hell is going on?” Clarke said, stepping forward, her posture and tone vibrating with fury. Lexa expected the other alpha to back down in the face of his leader’s anger, but he held his ground – nervously, clearly wavering. As she watched, he darted a glance back to the unknown _Skaikru,_ and Lexa thought, _Ah. He’s found someone else to follow, in her absence._

In the brief time Lexa had known him, Bellamy had annoyed her – largely because he was another dominant alpha, and tended to stick close to Clarke, as befitted someone that he recognized as his pack leader. But he had shown himself to be reasonable, even dependable – first when he’d held off the other alphas during Clarke’s heat, long enough for her to get to Clarke and mate her, and then when he’d infiltrated the Mountain and helped run things from the inside. But he almost seemed to be a different person now, eyes flicking wildly between Clarke and the other alpha, the hand that held his gun shaking slightly.

“It’s the Ice Nation,” he said at last, between clenched teeth. “They’re planning something; I don’t know what but we’ve gotta get you out of here.” His eyes roved around the room, taking in the shocked and furious faces of the assembled dignitaries, but his last words were for Clarke. This time Lexa couldn’t help the growl that rumbled from her throat. Ignoring Titus’s hissed warnings, she stalked forward, fury plain on her face.

But before she could do anything she knew she’d regret later – like present a dominance display over Clarke in front of the leaders of all of her Clans – the new Ice Nation ambassador, a large, loud man with warriors’ scars on his face, shouted, “These allegations are an outrage! _Skaikru,_ not _Azgeda,_ are the ones who have stormed this summit with weapons, breaking our laws!”

“We’re right about this,” said the third man, turning to Abby. “The two guards you left behind are dead already. We need to go, _now!”_

The way dominance and power rolled off him made Lexa seethe. It was entirely inappropriate behavior for someone his age – Bellamy was a young adult, and could be expected to have less control over his reactions, but this alpha had to be roughly twice his age. There was no excuse for the way he was pumping out pheromones like he expected to be obeyed _in her hall._

But when Clarke turned to her, eyes seeking her out instinctively for reassurance, or at least an explanation, she remembered herself. Remembered that she was the Commander of the Twelve Clans – now Thirteen – and that she could not just enforce her will by throwing herself at those who disrespected her laws and her dominance under her roof. Lexa forced herself to come to a halt just by Clarke’s shoulder, close enough that she could protect her if need be, but not so near that she could be interpreted as making a claim. “Where did you come by this information?” she said harshly, but managed to keep from layering her tone with a snarl.

The alpha looked like he wanted to protest, perhaps that they didn’t have time for this, but Bellamy met her eyes before turning around as though to search for someone. When he didn’t call anyone forward, his sister turned as well. “Where the hell is Echo?”

The _Skaikru_ cast around, searching the faces of the crowd, but all they found was hostility and alarm. At last, Octavia lowered her sword. “Bellamy, maybe we were wrong about this.”

The alpha boy kept staring around, his eyes growing wilder, as though he might be able to force this Echo to appear from hiding with his gaze. “I don’t understand,” he said hoarsely.

Lexa was about to issue an order for her guards to disarm the intruders – using their sudden discombobulation to avoid a wild shot – when Kane stepped forward. “Stand down,” he said, his voice tight with anger. Bellamy looked at the smaller man, and his eyes seemed to focus. After a moment of hesitation, he unslung his rifle from his shoulder and handed it to the beta. Kane turned to the other two, but before he could say anything Octavia had sheathed her sword with a decisive snap. He gestured to the third man. “Pike, give me your weapon.”

Static crackled from the radio clipped to Bellamy’s jacket. “Bellamy, come in!” It was a woman’s voice, choked and urgent. “Bellamy, _now!”_

The alpha boy fumbled for the radio, and Lexa took the moment to move closer to Clarke, putting herself level with the omega’s shoulder. She badly wanted to step in front, taking a posture that would emphasize her protectiveness over the Sky girl, but she knew she couldn’t without also displaying her dominance. To do so would somewhat undermine the gesture that _Wanheda_ had just made in bowing to her, and Lexa also knew, on a more personal level, that Clarke wouldn’t like it at all. While previously she would have berated herself for taking the omega’s feelings into consideration in matters of state, at this point she merely sighed at herself and proceeded.

Clicking the radio’s transmission button a couple of times, Bellamy shouted, “Raven, what’s going on?”

After another burst of static, the girl’s voice came through clearly: “The Grounders attacked Mount Weather.”

Lexa felt a jolt of ice streak through her veins. Who would have perpetrated this attack, and why? It was nothing she had ordered, and at any rate, what point was there in it? Mount Weather should be empty. Unless…

“What are you talking about?” Bellamy demanded.

Raven’s voice came over the radio in a cracked whisper. “It’s gone. They’re all gone. Sinclair and I are the only ones left.”

The alpha boy looked as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, or as though the words Raven spoke were unintelligible. “What do you mean, the only ones? Have you seen Gina –”

“I’m sorry,” Raven cried. “I’m so sorry.” Her voice trailed off into anguished sobs.

Lexa glanced around carefully at the three intruders, noting their reactions. Octavia looked grim, but unsurprised. Bellamy appeared shell-shocked, but the grief that was soon to come showed plainly on his face. The third man, Pike, interested her most: he appeared utterly devastated.

“You should have never moved your people back into Mount Weather.”

It was the low, grim voice of the Ice Nation ambassador. He strode into the center of the room, his words gathering strength as he spoke. “ _Azgeda_ did what _Lexa_ was too weak to do!” He turned to her, hissing out her name like a curse, and she saw red.

She was on him in one swift stride, reaching out to grab him by the neck before he could even react. Exerting all of the force of her dominance and power, she rumbled, her voice low with alpha overtones, “This is an act of war.” While the ambassador was an alpha, and usually quite a proud one from what little she’d seen of him, he offered submission almost immediately, averting his eyes from hers and turning his head to expose his neck. When she let out a low growl and squeezed harder, indicating that she still wasn’t satisfied, he let out a whine and cringed low to the floor.

She was honestly ready to kill him. The tension that had been suffusing her body for the months that Clarke had been gone from her, and the weeks that she had bowed and bent under the force of her mate’s animosity, had all boiled to the surface, and left her feeling something like living steel, freshly heated from the forge. _He disobeys me – disrespects me – threatens my mate’s people in my very hall – he_ must _die for this!_ her alpha raged.

The only thing that spared his life was a light touch on her arm – the lightest of touches, hidden by folds of fabric, but she’d know the touch of those fingers anywhere. She could feel the calm radiating from them up her arm and throughout her entire self, down to her core.

Her fierce grip on the _Azgeda_ ambassador’s throat relaxed, and he dropped out of her hold, gasping and choking. The first few times she tried to speak, the only thing that came out of her mouth was snarling, but eventually she got hold of herself. “Sentries, arrest the _Azgeda_ delegation,” she roared. Her warriors had been stunned into inaction by her furious display, but were now obeying her command before some of them even realized they were in motion. She watched as all of the Ice Nation delegates were hustled out of the throne room in a sea of white and pale blue; the last face she saw was the craggy, scarred mien of the _Azgeda_ prince.

As this was being done, Abby turned to Kane, murmuring, “We need to leave, _now._ If the Ice Nation attacked Mount Weather, Arkadia could be next.” Her words had clearly been for Kane, but she had not spoken quietly enough to indicate that they were meant only for him, and she darted a glance at Lexa while she said them. The Commander seized the opportunity to publicly show her support for the newest Clan under her protection.

“Go,” Lexa said. “Marshal your forces. I will do the same, and we will avenge the attack together.”

Abby looked somewhat dubious, but Kane nodded somberly. Lexa observed their dynamic approvingly – for all that he was a beta and Clarke’s mother was a very dominant alpha, she seemed to be handling the transfer of power fairly well.

“I will escort them, _Heda,”_ Indra said, stepping forward, and Lexa nodded. Indra made sense as the best choice of field marshal because Arkadia lay in the direct center of her territory. Lexa also knew that the beta was eager and ready – she had endured months of waiting as the Ice Nation played hopscotch with her Clan’s borders. But she also knew that Indra was patient and wise, and enough of a veteran not to go haring off in pursuit of blood without her Commander’s order. She lifted her chin at the Clan leader, indicating that she was to go and begin her preparations. As she watched, the warrior turned to Octavia, who had been watching her avidly every time she thought Indra hadn’t noticed.

“I hope you’ve kept up with your training, _ai Seken,”_ the general growled, clasping the omega’s arm. “You’re going to need it.” All Octavia could manage was a brief, shell-shocked nod before the general had swept from the hall.

Lexa turned to Clarke, preparing to issue words of reassurance, or vengeance, or _something_ – she could smell the tension rising from the omega and it had been hell trying to organize the situation instead of attempting to soothe her mate.

“Clarke, we need to leave.”

The words came from Bellamy’s throat, which sounded like it had been scraped hoarse and raw. For a moment Lexa almost couldn’t understand them – where would Clarke go with him, and why? Clarke was her mate, and her place was at Lexa’s side, where she’d be safe. But she soon shook off the hold of her instincts and tried to look beyond them. The Sky boy looked drained and heartsick, as though some essential substance had been leeched from him. He was gazing at Clarke like she was a lifeline, as though he was dangling off the edge of a precipice and Clarke was the rope.

To her credit, she was able to keep her snarl in her chest, rumbling through in sub-audible vibrations. But she knew Clarke could smell the anger and fear radiating from her, because she heard the omega gasp quietly. And then there were the fingers on her bare arm again, speaking to her more plainly than words: _Wait. Trust me._

Lexa drew a deep breath and forced her entire body to relax. Even though Clarke had this power over her, and even though Lexa knew she would go on loving her Sky girl until the day she died, she had no power over Clarke. She had accepted the omega’s submission in front of the leaders of all of her Clans; they had seen death in the form of Clarke Griffin bow to their _Heda._ But for all that she was who she was – Commander of the Blood, Ascended One, Alpha of All Packs – she had no choice but to stand like stone and watch as her _niron_ walked to Bellamy’s side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigedasleng:
> 
> Heda, ste taim: Commander, it’s time  
> Oso na gyon au: We will go now  
> Yumi na teik won sonraun au: Will you take a life with me?  
> Oso kik raun ogeda, soulou: We live as one, we live alone  
> Ai nou fir raun, ai mana jomp in, ai mana wan op: I am fearless, I aim to fight, I aim to die  
> Ai Seken: my Second  
> Niron: loved one


	8. king and lionheart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is my take on the gayest scene in modern television, and that includes all of the L Word and Glee. Seriously. Let me know what you all think in the comments or @n1ghtwr1ter on tumblr!
> 
> [](http://s558.photobucket.com/user/calfaolan/media/green78%20-%20young%20gods%20cover_zpsi9hmjfrz.jpg.html)  
> 

“Clarke, we need to leave. _Now._ ”

She was able to distinguish Bellamy’s words through the ringing in her ears, but the haze in her brain rendered them unintelligible. Leave? Where would she go? Lexa was here, the sire of her pups, her alpha who had claimed her before all of the Twelve Clans and then accepted the submission of _Skaikru_ ’s leader so that they might become Thirteen. Clarke’s mind was still stuck on the moment that Lexa had lifted her to her feet and placed her mouth at her neck, right over the scar that had bound them together. She had already been dizzied by the dominant pheromones pouring from the Commander, and she had seen everything from that point onward through a haze of desire and overstimulation. Her entire body felt like it was tingling, with the strongest sensation centering on the mark at her neck and between her legs. Her sex felt like it had turned to molten liquid, and a very large portion of her brain was preoccupied with figuring out how quickly she could get Lexa alone and…

 _No, goddammit! Concentrate!_ Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to ignore her traitorous body’s demands, and to focus her swimming vision on Bellamy’s face. Her inner omega howled, torturing her with a vision of draping herself across Lexa’s throne and presenting herself to be taken, but she pushed through it, ignoring the flood of wetness that it provoked.

She stepped closer to him and was instantly hit with the scent of his desperation, so acute it made her head swim. He reeked of alpha pheromones, but they didn’t sing to her of how sweet it would be to submit the same way Lexa’s did – in part, she thought, because they weren’t mated, but also because of the way he was behaving right now. His eyes were roaming around wildly as though seeking a threat, or an escape route. She was suddenly very glad that Kane had taken Bellamy’s gun.

All at once she became aware that Lexa had followed, stepping up beside her. Clarke still wasn’t entirely clear-headed, but she knew that Bellamy would view this as a threat, and in his current state it might trigger him to do something that all of them would regret. Holding in a sigh at the loss of comfort that accompanied leaving her alpha’s side, she moved forward again, this time gently letting her fingers come to rest on Lexa’s wrist. She gritted her teeth against the way that the tingling of her skin intensified at the brief contact, but it had her intended effect: she felt rather than heard the Commander let out a low huff, and the lines of her body relaxed imperceptibly.

“I’m not going back,” she said quietly to Bellamy, when she’d neared enough to speak in confidence. She could feel eyes on her, most notably Lexa’s and her mother’s, but she steeled herself against acknowledging them.

“What are you talking about?” he said, his voice low but pained. Her heart ached for him – he had just lost someone he cared for, clearly, and he was probably desperate to cling to whatever he had left that made the world feel right again. It touched her that she was one of those things, but she had a job to do.

It was something that she and Lexa had discussed, in the short time they’d had before the alpha had taken her to meet her mother. “All of the Clan leaders are expected to be here for important functions, such as the Ascension of a new Commander, but for less formal occasions they may choose to send an Ambassador, a trusted advisor who speaks with their voice and makes certain that their concerns are heard.” The Commander had paused, obviously fumbling for the words, and Clarke had thought about making her say what she was holding back, but in the end she’d taken pity on her.

“And you want me to be the Ambassador for _Skaikru.”_

“Yes,” Lexa had said, with no small amount of relief. “I think that given your history of leadership among your people, as well as your reputation as _Wanheda,_ you would be the best choice.”

“My mom’s the leader of _Skaikru,_ so it’d be her decision, right?” she asked, worrying at her lip. she was all of a sudden not certain whether she wanted Abby to say yes or no.

“It is,” Lexa said, a bit hesitantly, not quite meeting Clarke’s eyes. Here it was, Clarke thought: here was when the alpha was supposed to acknowledge what they were to each other, or at least what they had been, and tell Clarke that she, _Lexa,_ not just the Commander, didn’t want her to leave. Large green eyes, vast as a forest, snapped up to meet hers, and Clarke had sucked in a breath; but in the end, Lexa’s courage had failed her. “I believe it might be…safer for you to remain here as well,” she said delicately, as though she were picking each word from between her teeth. “While the induction of your people into the Coalition may protect them as a whole, there may still be some who may seek to take your power for themselves.”

“And the quickest way to do that is by killing me,” Clarke finished for her. Lexa nodded shortly.

A part of Clarke wanted to argue with her, to force her to say that it wasn't just about her safety, that it was also her alpha pride and concern for Clarke as her mate that was prompting this advice, but in the end she'd just nodded and said, “I'll have to talk to my mom.”

That was where they stood now, Clarke knew, although Bellamy didn’t know that yet and she hadn’t spoken to her mother after all. And her mother wasn’t even the leader of _Skaikru_ anymore, at least not in the Grounders’ eyes; after this evening, it was Kane. But she highly doubted that he would go against Lexa’s wishes in this area. She had to wonder: _Do I want him to?_

“We need an Ambassador here, Bellamy,” she said, trying to keep her voice as calm and non-confrontational as possible. “Who can represent Arkadia’s needs and make sure that we get justice for what happened at the Mountain.”

“What would you know about Arkadia’s needs?” he said, bitterness flooding his tone. “The last time you saw it, it was still called Camp Jaha.”

He’d cut right to the heart of the still-painful wound that she carried, the guilt that she couldn’t keep from flooding her whenever anyone so much as mentioned the place. She knew it was his grief and fury that made him do it, because he’d never been a manipulative or truly cruel person, but she couldn’t help the way it felt like a blow to her chest. “Bellamy…”

The alpha sighed. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. But it’s not safe here, Clarke.”

“Clarke _will_ be safe here, under my protection,” Lexa said. Her voice was tight, and Clarke suspected that it was taking every ounce of self-control she had not to growl at Bellamy. He’d intruded in her hall, armed and uninvited, and now he was challenging her protective instincts where they concerned her mate – not that he could know that. Clarke felt a shudder run down her spine as she remembered standing between the two of them, their bodies shivering with snarls, ready to fight to the death over the right to take her through her heat. Then, as now, they were both looking to protect her…but they couldn't afford this kind of display, not with the eyes of Lexa’s Clans watching.

Glancing over her shoulder as surreptitiously as possible, she stepped closer to Bellamy until she could be sure she was out of Lexa’s earshot. “I need to make sure she keeps her word,” she told him, keeping her words low but urgent.

Bellamy shook his head. “She left us to die in that Mountain,” he said, his voice strained. His eyes flicked over her shoulder, undisguised loathing in their glare, and Clarke knew who he was looking at. “She will _always_ put her people first.” Clarke swallowed, remembering: _I want your people to become my people._ She thought about telling Bellamy about this, telling him everything: why she was the one best chance they had to make sure that Lexa did as she'd promised, because she didn't want to lose Clarke again. But she knew he wouldn't see it the way she did; he was an alpha through and through, and all that he'd see was a member of his pack abandoning it for another. “You should come home to yours,” he finished, glancing at Lexa again distrustfully.

Clarke swallowed hard, knowing that this was goodbye in more ways than one: by throwing in her lot with Lexa, she knew Bellamy wasn't going to be able to trust her the same way again. But she knew that she needed to stay; the best way she could protect her people was by remaining here and making sure that Lexa did. “I'm sorry,” she said, trying to give those two inadequate words the fullness of her regret, but the weight of her finality.

The alpha opened his mouth again, but to Clarke’s mingled relief and sadness, her mother interjected. “May we meet again,” she whispered to Clarke, pulling her into a powerful hug.

“I love you, Mom,” she said, voice choked with the tears she wouldn't allow herself to have. “May we meet again.”

When Abby pulled away, Kane came forward, squeezing her shoulder and giving her a sad smile. He and her mother turned to go, nodding at Bellamy to accompany him. He looked like he wanted to argue, but Kane seized his shoulder in what looked like a far less friendly grip, and with one last curl of his lip, he turned away. Moments later they were gone, escorted from the hall by a cohort of Lexa’s guards.

Clarke let out a breath she couldn’t remember holding, and turned to Lexa. She expected to see pride and satisfaction, but instead she saw such undisguised relief that it felt like a thin blade slipping into her heart. A moment later the mask of the Commander was back, but Clarke still felt the pang of what she had seen – what Lexa had allowed her to see. The alpha had been genuinely terrified that she was going to leave with Bellamy and the others, and never look back. _Yeah, well I’m not you,_ she thought at Lexa, but without teeth: the exhaustion of the day and its emotional turmoil was catching up with her. She gave the alpha a small nod, and Lexa returned it with a regal tilt of her head.

With the _Skaikru’s_ departure, the room was beginning to fill with noise again, people clustering into tight little groups and discussing the recent events in a furious low hum. Titus leaned close to Lexa’s ear, murmuring something that Clarke couldn’t make out, and the Commander nodded. “Tomorrow, we will convene the war council,” she said in a ringing tone that made everyone quiet instantly. “Tonight, I ask that you all rest well, as we have many long days ahead.” The throne room rumbled with affirmatives, and then one by one the Ambassadors of the Twelve Clans and their entourages made their way forward, to kneel at their Commander’s feet and offer her their farewell.

Clarke watched them numbly for a little while, but her gaze soon wandered, staring at nothing and everything as the room emptied. She felt abruptly and absurdly unwanted and was just considering whether it was expected of her to wait and pay her own respects, or if she could just slip off to bed, when she felt a hand land gently on her shoulder. She turned, already knowing who she’d see.

“I need to speak with my scouts,” Lexa said softly. “I want to hear their reports on the Ice Nation’s movements, and then send them out again tonight, to gather as much information as they can before we convene the war council. I know that Nia cannot be far from here; if we can capture her and make her answer for her crimes, this war may be over before it begins.” It was a _very_ long shot and they both knew it, but Clarke answered with a tired little smile anyway.

A moment passed before Lexa realized that she wasn’t going to say anything, and a slight amount of color bloomed in her cheeks. “I was…hoping that perhaps you might like to change into something more comfortable, and then join me while I speak to them,” the alpha said hastily. “But I certainly understand if you’re tired and would prefer to go to bed…”

Clarke would, in fact, greatly prefer to go to bed, but she shook her head. “No. I’ll be there.”

Lexa nodded. “We’ll convene in the small council chamber in an hour.”

She left then, dress hissing softly as it swept across the cold cement of the throne room, Titus following her closely. His eyes met Clarke’s as he left the room, and while the warmth of Lexa’s hand still seemed to linger on her shoulder, the coldness in her advisor’s gaze made chills seep through the omega’s entire body.

***

The meeting with Lexa’s scouts took place in a chilly little chamber just off the throne room. It was largely taken up by a map table, much like the one she remembered from Lexa’s tent, but much vaster, and with a wider overview of the territory surrounding the city. Clarke’s eyes traveled over hundreds of miles of grassland and desert and forest in seconds, until they came to rest on the blue-tipped mountains that marked the northern border of _Azgeda._ Even in miniature, the scope of the topography took her breath away.

Lexa was waiting for her there, with Titus; she had changed into her usual garb, all black, and scrubbed the warpaint from her face, while he was still wearing his ceremonial robes and his habitual scowl. It deepened when he saw Clarke, and he turned to Lexa as if to protest her inclusion in the meeting, but something in the alpha’s scent or body language made him think better of it. He seated himself to Lexa’s left with a huff and began shuffling through some papers, obviously trying to pretend that Clarke wasn’t there.

She hovered awkwardly in the doorway for a moment before Lexa gestured for her to take a seat directly to her right. Titus looked up at her furiously, and then turned his glare on Lexa, but the Commander only gazed back steadily, as though daring him to argue. Clarke managed to refrain from rolling her eyes. Clearly this was an ongoing power struggle between the two of them, and she didn’t care to get in the middle of it.

They resumed sitting in awkward silence, punctured only by the drumming of Lexa’s fingers on the table, and Titus’s increasingly pointed rustling of pages. It was beginning to prey on Clarke’s nerves, even as exhausted as she was, but thankfully they didn’t have long to wait before the scouts began to file in. They were hard-bitten men and women, most of them betas, with very few distinguishing features; Clarke mused that she probably wouldn’t be able to tell them apart in a crowd, and then realized that this was most likely on purpose. These were individuals chosen for their ability to blend in. They weren’t just scouts, she realized; they were spies.

The scouts came in quietly, a few at a time. Lexa greeted all of them by name, giving them a regal nod; they each dipped her a short bow before taking their seats. A few of them gave Clarke swift glances, but didn't linger, preferring to talk quietly amongst themselves or sit in silence. After the intense scrutiny of the past several hours, she found that she was rather grateful for their disinterest.

After perhaps ten minutes of waiting, a tall man with a lean, wearied face and dark hair streaked with grey entered, carrying a scroll. He presented it to Lexa with a bow, then proceeded to the other end of the table, where he sat directly opposite the Commander. All of the talking had ceased when he came in, Clarke realized, and moments later she understood why: Lexa addressed him formally as Chief Scout Brekon.

“Thank you all for coming so swiftly from your posts,” she said to the table at large. “I will now hear your reports.” From this point, Brekon took control of the meeting, indicating with a tilt of his head for the scouts to deliver their news, usually in groups of one to three. Although they'd started the conversation in English, everyone soon fell into rapid-fire Trigedasleng, and Clarke found her overtired brain taxed to its limit and beyond just keeping up with them.

Eventually, she stopped trying, at first watching the subtle flicker of emotions across the faces of the people at the table and trying to discern what they might mean. But the scouts had Lexa’s skill at hiding their feelings, and then some: to her dark amusement, she found that the Commander was actually the easiest to read out of the lot of them, although she suspected that was largely due to her familiarity with Lexa’s face.

As the night wore on, she found her concentration slipping even further, and settled for looking out the window behind Lexa, watching the moon creep across the sky. She was sure that Titus was taking note of her inattention and judging her for it, but she was rather too tired to care. She had also resigned herself to the fact that he didn’t like her, and she doubted that anything she said or did was going to change that. Every so often she caught Lexa glancing at her too, but by the time she looked up at the alpha, her focus was on someone else.

Despite her increasingly flagging attention span and its attendant failure of her fluency in Trigedasleng, she did manage to take in a few things: Lexa’s scouts had been ranging throughout the territories of the Coalition for over six months, covertly gathering information as to the plans of the Ice Nation, and the likelihood of each individual Clan to support or oppose them. When _Wanheda_ had been found, Lexa had immediately sent word that their missions were over, and that they were to return with what they had learned. However, the agents that she’d had in deep cover in _Azgeda_ territory had not made it to the rendezvous.

“It’s a long trip, especially from the Glacier,” Lexa said in Trigedasleng. Anyone would have thought that she was just as calm and serene as usual – anyone except for Clarke, who could taste just the tiniest edge of desperation in her scent. Abandoning her perusal of the moon, which was descending from its apex towards the jagged black lines of the mountains that bordered Polis, Clarke turned her full attention on the Commander. She was sitting straight and tall in her seat, chin lifted regally, eyes clear – but her fingers were no longer tapping the wood of the table restlessly. They were curled into fists, so tightly that the blood had fled from the upper layers of her skin, and Clarke had to curtail a sudden urge to rest her hand atop one of them soothingly.

“It is, _Heda,”_ Brekkon said, nodding in acknowledgement.

“So it is possible that Harris and Sachu are simply delayed in getting back, and missed the rendezvous,” Lexa continued leadingly. Titus gave her a sharp look.

“ _Heda…”_

Lexa held up her hand to quiet him, keeping her eyes fixed on Brekkon. The scoutmaster worried at his lip, the tension between giving his honest opinion and telling his _Heda_ what she wanted to hear written in the lines of his body. Finally he sighed. “It is possible, but unlikely at this time of year. The roads are clear and dry, the harvest is not in so the markets haven’t opened yet, the weather in the Upper Pass has held steady…and Willem has returned without them.” Lexa’s gaze snapped to a tired-looking beta, scarcely more than a boy, who was seated a few chairs down from Brekkon. Before she could question him, the chief scout hastened to say, “His assignment was to sweep the northern border, and to meet them at the crossroads when they came down. He waited three days past when he was supposed to, and only just made it here in time for the Summit.”

All of the fight went out of Lexa at his words, and although she didn’t change her posture, to Clarke she might as well have slumped low in her chair. She gave Willem a tired smile. “You are to be commended for your dedication, _trupa,”_ she said, then stood. The rest of the table stood with her, and Clarke scrambled to follow their lead under Titus’s stern gaze. She couldn’t resist lifting her lip at him a little – just because he didn’t like her presence here didn’t mean he had to give her the stink eye for the last three hours. _Fuck. Three hours…feels like three days._

“I thank you all for your dedication,” Lexa said, eyes traveling around her scouts. “I wish I could say that you may take the leave that you have all earned, but our fight is just beginning. Tomorrow I will need you to scout the locations of the _Azgeda_ army, and see if Nia can be found. I doubt that she will be far from her vanguard, if she is not already among them. If she is there, do what you can to bring her here peacefully. If she will not come, bring back word of her forces’ disposition and movements. _Reshop, trupakru.”_ Apparently that was a dismissal, because the scouts began filing from the hall, some talking quietly amongst themselves but most maintaining a heavy, exhausted silence. But Lexa had caught the eye of Brekkon and a couple of others, and they lingered until after the doors had closed behind the rest of them.

The Commander rounded the table to join them down at their end, and Clarke wavered, uncertain as to whether she was invited to this pseudo-private conference as well. Ultimately, she decided, _Fuck it. I was present through her whole spy meeting; I'm sure I've already heard a dozen things that are considered top secret. What's one more?_ She settled for creeping closer, hands in her pockets, attempting to look casual in case Titus glanced her way.

When she got near enough to hear them speaking, the advisor did indeed look sharply at her, but she ignored him, focusing on Lexa instead as though she had something important to tell her. “I need you to go to the Mountain,” the alpha was saying. “Learn all that you can about what happened there. I want to know how they got in, how the explosion was made, whether there might be more…”

Lexa wasn't finished addressing her scouts, but Clarke’s worn-out brain had spun up again, and was churning hard on something that didn’t seem quite right about the way the whole narrative had spun out. She frowned, trying to drag whatever _it_ was into focus, when all of a sudden she was distracted by the sound of the heavy wooden door slamming. When she looked up, the scouts had gone; it was just Lexa and her and Titus.

Unsurprisingly, the advisor opened his mouth to say something – _probably how a silly little omega like_ Wanheda _shouldn’t be in a meeting with big important alphas,_ Clarke thought uncharitably – but Lexa wasn’t in the mood. She gestured towards the door and began walking towards it, and Titus had no choice but to follow. As soon as she was sure he wasn’t looking at her, Clarke smirked at his back.

“Let me know as soon as the scouts return,” Lexa told him as he stood in the doorway. Titus darted a glance over her shoulder at Clarke, and the omega dropped the smirk off her face instantly, but she couldn’t quite be sure whether or not he had seen. But he didn’t mention her childishness, only sighed and turned back to his Commander.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, _Heda,”_ he said with a sort of grave finality that shriveled Clarke’s inane glee. The alpha only nodded, and he was gone.

Lexa let out a little sigh, her shoulders dropping, as though the full weight of her world had just now dropped on them. But she’d been carrying that weight all along, Clarke realized; it was only now that she was letting anyone see just how tired it made her. The Commander turned and began making her way back to Clarke, her steps slow and careful.

“I still don’t understand how the Ice Nation could have known that there was a trigger mechanism inside Mount Weather,” Clarke said, trying to keep her tone calm and businesslike. The look Lexa gave her was weary.

“We’ll have the answers soon, Clarke,” she said, voice heavy, and gave her a small smile that Clarke guessed was supposed to be reassuring. Needless to say, it wasn’t. There were so many questions left unanswered, so much that still needed to be discussed…and then there was the fact that although she had agreed to put her trust in Lexa for the moment, in order to save her people from annihilation by the Ice Nation, she couldn’t be certain that the Commander and her Coalition were not, ultimately, the greater threat.

Clarke steeled herself as the alpha approached. There was still the usual pull that she felt around Lexa – the urge to just sink into her arms and let the comfort of their entwined scents work its charm – but she forced herself to ignore it as Lexa said, “Thank you for staying here.”

Clarke narrowed her eyes. “I’m here for my people, not for you.”

Lexa just nodded, coming to a stop within arm’s reach of her. Her eyes were on the floor, her posture submissive – shoulders turned inward, head down – and Clarke couldn’t remember when she’d ever seen Lexa look this way. _Stop it,_ she told herself roughly. _She’s probably doing this on purpose, to get you to trust her. And you_ can’t. _She’s proven that._ “If you betray me again –”

“I won’t,” Lexa said abruptly. Her tone was full of raw, aching sincerity, and Clarke had to fight not to let her surprise show. She lost that fight when the Commander sank to her knees.

“I swear fealty to you, _Klark kom Skaikru,”_ Lexa said, her voice tight with emotion and her eyes wide and open and vulnerable. “I vow to treat your needs as my own, and your people as my people. I offer you my submission as my oath that I will not betray your trust.” And then she lifted her chin, exposing the long, elegant arch of her neck, where her pulse beat hard beneath the mating mark.

Clarke’s breath caught in her chest. The fact that an alpha, let alone the Commander of Thirteen Clans, was doing this willingly – offering up her submission to an omega, to Clarke – was enough to make her question the reality of what she was seeing. But Lexa was still here, on her knees before her, nothing but aching openness and complete surrender in her face. Her eyes were closed and she held herself as still as she could while she waited for Clarke’s answer, but as Clarke neared she could see that Lexa was trembling.

At the first touch of Clarke’s fingertips to the soft skin of her throat, Lexa let out a very faint gasp, but it might as well have been a roar in the stillness of the room. Her eyes flew open and met Clarke’s, and all at once the omega knew what it felt like to hold a life in her hands. She couldn’t have said why she did next - at this point she wasn’t really thinking about what she was doing. She was simply reacting, following her instincts, and they told her to draw Lexa forward, and then cup her hand around the side of the alpha’s jaw to turn her head and press it to her stomach.

The moment Lexa’s cheek met the fabric of Clarke’s shirt, the alpha froze. All at once Clarke’s rational brain came back online, filling her mind with racing thoughts: _Oh my god, what the fuck are you doing? What the actual fuck are you –_

But then Lexa looked up at her, eyes shining, still with her head pressed to Clarke’s belly, and all of her doubts that this was right were wiped away by Lexa’s scent. The sudden flood of love, fear, relief, and hope was powerful enough to make her gasp. But it was Lexa’s next words that made her heart stand still.

“Three of them,” the alpha said hoarsely, as though she were not stating a simple fact but instead saying holy words. “Clarke…I can hear three heartbeats.”

Even though she’d told herself she would be firm tonight, she would be strong, she would not cry in front of Lexa or anybody, Clarke felt tears pressing at her temples. _Three of them._ All of a sudden the vision she’d had when she’d spoken to her mother came into much sharper focus. Three pups who would have golden hair, and brilliant green eyes, like the ones staring up at her with so much love and awe…

“Lexa…” But there did not seem to be anything to say. Relinquishing her hold on Lexa’s chin, she extended her hand. After a pause, as though considering whether she were worthy enough to touch a holy relic, Lexa took it, and allowed Clarke to draw her back to her feet. As soon as she was standing, Lexa’s grip eased, but Clarke’s did not. She had spent so long denying herself what she wanted, what her body and her omega and her heart craved – as long as she was being honest with herself – and she was tired. God, she was so tired.

It only took a gentle tug and then Lexa’s mouth was on hers, warm and soft and wonderful. The alpha was hesitant at first, moving her lips very gently against Clarke’s and only letting the tips of her fingers rest on Clarke’s hip, but the omega didn’t care. She was giving her body what it needed: her alpha’s scent and touch. Clarke’s mind was whirling with vague, confusing thoughts: _Yes…this is right…I shouldn’t be doing this but it feels so…_

As the kiss deepened, Clarke felt arousal spark in her belly, heralding the familiar flame that meant Lexa. She gripped the alpha’s fingers tighter, wound her free hand into the tightly braided mane to seize the baby-soft curls at the back of her neck. But the desperation that was starting to blaze through her was what ultimately made alarm bells go off in her brain: _I’m kissing Lexa…_ fuck! _I’m kissing_ Lexa, _and if I don’t stop now…_

The images that flashed through her mind – _bodies entwined, moving together, low moans and harsh cries –_ were brief but vivid, and they turned her on but they also terrified her. The week she’d endured in Polis, where everything seemed suffused with Lexa’s scent and she might as well have been wearing one of the alpha’s shirts tied around her nose, had turned her into a powder keg, and the love and care she’d seen shining in the Commander’s eyes had been the match, but she was not going to let herself explode. She could contain herself. She could do this. She just had to figure out how to stop kissing Lexa first.

In the end, she didn’t have to: Lexa pulled away first, a question in her darkened eyes. “Clarke…?”

Freed suddenly from the influence of the alpha’s pheromones, Clarke found it in herself to step back. Every inch she moved away from Lexa was easier than the last, though that wasn’t to say any of them were particularly easy: her body still yearned towards its mate, still begged her to step back into the warmth and comfort of Lexa’s touch. But Clarke hardened her will and kept moving, until she’d maneuvered herself around Lexa and her path to the door was clear.

“Clarke!” The alpha’s voice was pleading, her eyes full of confusion and heartbreak. Clarke tore herself away from their gaze, knowing that if she stayed looking into them she might never leave.

“I can’t,” she mumbled to the cold stone floor, then began to walk swiftly towards the door. She picked up speed until she was practically at a run, bursting through the threshold with her heart pumping in her chest like she was being pursued. She didn’t stop until she reached her room, closed the door, and locked it behind her. She didn’t ask herself why she’d run, or what she was running from; she was afraid that she already knew the answer. _Don’t think about it,_ she told herself, and then, when that didn’t have enough weight, she said it out loud. “Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t – fucking – think – argh!”

She let out a low growl and dropped her head into her hands, massaging her temples as though she could press the traitorous thoughts out of them. But eventually, the exhaustion of the day won out, and she dragged herself to her bed, not even bothering to undress. She was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, and did not remember her dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigedasleng:**
> 
> _*trupa:_ scout  
>  _*trupakru:_ scout group


	9. what is a legacy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a doozy. Let me know what you thought in the comments or on tumblr @n1ghtwr1ter.
> 
> [](http://s558.photobucket.com/user/calfaolan/media/green78%20-%20young%20gods%20cover_zpsi9hmjfrz.jpg.html)  
> 

" _Solo gonplei…gona gon gona. Gon wamplei.”_

Hearing these words, Lexa knew she should have felt a chill passing through her veins, but she felt only a warmthless calm. _You would be proud, Titus, if you could see inside my head,_ she thought, staring into the Ice Queen’s gleeful face. _At last I have learned to separate feelings from duty._

Although that wasn’t entirely true. The numbness that had settled over her since Clarke had left her council chamber the night before blanketed a whole host of emotions. She had been stunned utterly until the door had slammed behind the omega and her lips had stopped tingling, but then the weight of what she felt had descended upon her all at once, like a seething mass of snakes. She had been forced to bend under their weight, gasping, one hand clutching a chair so that she’d stay upright and the other clutching her chest, like it could close the gaping hole that had been left when Clarke had run from her, tearing out her heart in the process.

She’d thought she’d been free from this. She’d told herself again and again that the Sky girl wasn’t hers, that by doing what she’d done at the Mountain she had forfeited any last chance she’d had at truly being her mate. She’d made herself relive the visions she’d conjured, of walking through Polis’s sunny streets and showing Clarke their small wonders and delights; of making love to her in her vast bed, and feeling, for the first time since Costia, like it wasn’t far too large and empty; and, one day, of helping her care for their children. She’d forced herself to think back over all of these fantasies one by one and then excised them from her brain.

But then Clarke had kissed her, last night, and all of a sudden they came rushing back, reconstituting themselves just in time for the omega to rip them all away again. She had spent a sleepless night staring at the ceiling of her room, wondering how she could possibly have been so stupid as to open herself to feeling this kind of agony again. But gradually it had numbed over, as though her body had been wounded and was sending her into shock so that she didn’t pass out from the pain. She had gone through her morning in a kind of haze, not eating until Titus reminded her to and not really caring what she put into her mouth – she might have tried to eat her fork if her advisor hadn’t pulled it from her hand at the last second.

“ _Heda,_ what’s gotten into you?” he said, in his characteristic mix of concern and scolding.

“Nothing,” she’d said, and that had been the truth: she felt as though her insides had been scraped out and she was left hollow. She was filled with nothing.

She’d managed to rally herself enough to address the Ambassadors, although she had carefully avoided looking at Clarke when she spoke. That was all right, though – from what she could tell out of the corner of her eye, the _Skayon_ was no more eager to meet her gaze. Her scouts had brought Nia in – to everyone’s shock except Lexa’s, the Ice Queen had agreed to come quietly – and Titus had listed off the charges against her. She’d played her hand; the Ambassadors had risen against her to invoke one of the only two methods of removing a Commander from office: a unanimous vote of no confidence.

Or nearly unanimous: Clarke’s had been the one voice against it, and Lexa had watched as relief and frustration waged war across Titus’s face as he was forced to acknowledge the legitimacy of _Skaikru_ in order to keep Nia’s coup from succeeding. The only thing she’d mustered, as she’d listened to her exalted position tossed about the room like a ball in a children’s game, was a vague sense of amusement at the whole business. She should be furious; she should be terrified. Instead, she felt nothing.

She’d known that the vote was not how Nia wanted this to go anyway, even though she’d clearly bought or blackmailed enough of the Ambassadors to make it a near thing, and the others were in her pocket anyway. But that would never be enough for the _Haiplana kom Azgeda;_ nothing but seeing Lexa bleed out in the sands of the arena with all of Polis watching would be enough to satisfy her lust for blood and power.

Now, standing toe to toe with the woman who’d captured and killed her first lover, her sweet, gentle Costia who had known nothing of the secrets she’d had to keep as _Heda,_ known nothing of war or blood or death, she almost regretted the numbness that had crept over her. She’d wanted to savor this moment, to enjoy the chance, finally, to make Nia suffer as she’d suffered. But that had been taken from her as well.

“Queen Nia of _Azgeda_ , who will be your champion?” Titus said heavily.

Nia’s lips curved up in a cruel smile. “My son, Prince Roan of _Azgeda,”_ she said.

 _Of course you would issue this challenge, and then not fight for it yourself,_ Lexa thought. _Why would you run the risk of spilling your own blood when you can spill anyone else’s?_ She turned to observe the beta, but she could detect nothing of his feelings in his scarred face as he accepted his mother’s nomination with a nod. In contrast, Nia’s pride shone clearly in her smirk.

“And who do you choose to be your champion, _Heda?”_ Titus said softly, pulling Lexa from her thoughts. If she was being honest, the idea of tasking someone else with fighting for her position as Commander had not occurred to her, even though she knew it was a legal possibility. It was called _pudon yu zodon en skai,_ or giving your fate to the gods. The theory was much the same as the one that had made her _Heda:_ because she was the last one standing, covered in the black blood of her fellow _Natblida,_ she had been chosen by the Spirit as worthiest to bear the Flame. In the same vein, if her champion were to best Roan in single combat, it would be interpreted as a sign from the gods that her claim to _Hedon_ was worthy.

Of course, it was not that simple, and Titus knew it; Lexa could see it in his eyes as she turned and made her way back up the steps to her throne. The clause existed to make it so that a very young Commander, should one be chosen, might stand a fair chance against a seasoned warrior twice or three times their size. To hide behind a champion in the prime of her life, after she had demanded and received the obedience of all Thirteen Clans and declared herself alpha over all of them, would be to open her reign to even more question than Nia had already brought to bear. How could a warrior accept the command of a leader to go die for her if she herself was not willing to spill her own blood?

But the truth was that while she knew she had no choice, the thought of the coming conflict stirred her blood, her instinct to prove her dominance. And the fact that the challenge was brought by Nia, of all people… _Mebi ste raitnes en houd pas eting._ It was with the faintest hint of a snarl on her lips that she said, her words slow and full of furious portent, “ _Ai laik Heda. Non na throu daun gon ai.”_

Titus was already shaking his head before she’d finished, but she ignored him. She could feel Clarke’s eyes frantically searching her face and knew that the omega would demand an explanation sooner or later, but she refused to meet her gaze. She kept her eyes locked on Nia’s face, watching impassively as her lips curled up in a cruel grin.

***

“What are the three pillars of being the Commander?”

It was a fairly simple question, one of the first in the drill she was running her Nightbloods through that day. She tended to open the recitation with the youngest, as the first questions were typically the simplest and required the least memorization. Later, as they moved on to deeper topics – the reasoning behind the philosophy of the Commander’s rule, the way that philosophy applied to the decisions they would make as _Heda –_ she would call upon the older, more advanced novitiates, would praise their correct answers and then debate with them to make certain that they had not only memorized the words but truly considered the meaning behind them. She had more than once been truly impressed by some of their answers, which displayed a knowledge and forethought beyond what an outsider might have expected of children their age. But she knew better. These were no children; they were _Natblida,_ chosen by birth and trained to fight, to rule, to kill…and to die. Just like her.

But today, they weren’t acting at all like they usually did, attentive to her words and eager to give their own. All of them – even the oldest ones, like Aden and Tali, who were usually more than ready to compete with one another – seemed out of sorts, distracted and staring at the walls or the floors or off into the distance. Lexa stopped speaking, examining each of the Nightbloods in turn and noting the looks on their faces: some appeared to be attempting a brave face, but most looked desolate, even miserable. When her gaze landed on Riel, the young girl gave an audible sniffle. Lexa sighed.

“ _Ait,_ what is it? _Chit choj yo op?”_

None of them answered. No one would meet her gaze. At this point Lexa was fairly certain that she knew, but _Heda’s_ questions demanded answers. She could probably order them to speak, and, miserably, they would, but she knew that this was far from the best way to go about it. However, if they would not speak as a group, perhaps there was one who they might trust to speak for them.

“Aden?” she said, letting her eyes rest heavily on the boy. He let out a small sigh and she could practically see him mustering his courage to meet her gaze.

“ _Sha, Heda.”_

 _“Tel ai op,”_ she said, as gently as she could with just the slightest edge of steel to her tone, to let him know that she would not be defied. The young Nightblood drew a heavy breath.

“ _Osir don sen in –“_

“ _Raun Gonasleng,”_ she said, sternly but without heat. He knew that his English still required work – he had the vocabulary but often struggled with pronunciation.

“ _Ai biyo moba, Heda,”_ Aden said, before continuing carefully, “We – the Nightbloods, I mean – heard some of the kitchen people saying that the Queen of the Ice Nation had challenged your place as _Heda._ And that you would have to duel the Prince of _Azgeda_ to – to the death.” The boy had carried through the majority of his speech bravely, but when he came to the end his voice faltered, and Lexa could see his lip beginning to quiver.

“And did they say why?” Lexa urged quietly, setting her chin in her hand.

Aden opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, one of the other Nightbloods – little Riel – burst out, “You mustn't die, _Heda!”_

Lexa’s eyebrows rose at the desperation in the young _Natblida_ ’s voice. “Riel,” she said, as gently as she could, “you know that death is not the end, not truly. My spirit will live on in one of you, and –“

But while she had intended her words to be a comfort, they had the opposite effect: Riel burst into tears. Lexa hastened to the girl and enveloped her small frame in her arms, but it was like a dam had burst. Soon she was surrounded by sobbing pups, all of them babbling out various versions of what Riel had said and struggling to grasp some part of her, to hold onto her in some way. Even Aden succumbed eventually, tears streaming silently down his cheeks as he fell to his knees beside her and wrapped his arm around her neck.

Lexa knew that Titus would say this was a moment where it would be more important than ever to reinforce the teachings of the Commander, to impress upon her charges that a _Heda’_ s death was not a true death, merely a changing of the guard. The person who bore the Flame had been chosen for their strength and worthiness as a vessel, but ultimately they were a vessel and nothing more. Their death did not matter; _she_ did not matter. Her death was nothing to be mourned.

And yet, surrounded as she was by crying children who were terrified for their _Heda,_ who had trained them and raised them since they could remember, it was difficult to find the comfort that she usually did in these teachings. Her words lacked the conviction that they usually held, and she knew that there was no sense in continuing to try to express the concept when her own faith was so shaken. All she could do was attempt to give them what comfort she could, murmuring their names and stroking their hair and letting them grip her clothing and rub their tear-streaked faces against her shirt to absorb what they could of her scent. She could feel her own tears pressing against her temples, but she held them back, worried that if she started none of them would ever stop.

Eventually the Nightbloods’ sobbing lapsed into sniffles and snotty noses rubbed on sleeves, and she was able to gently disentangle herself from them. Without any prompting, they arranged themselves on the floor before her again much as they had for their lesson, and she resumed her former place on her throne. Teary, red-eyed faces turned up towards hers expectantly. She knew that whatever she said next was crucial to their development as _Natblida,_ as candidates for Command, but she could not deny the sudden urge to protect and reassure them.

“You know that someday I will die,” she told the Nightbloods. She felt their desperate eyes on her, and saw several mouths opening to protest, but she held up her hand. “It would be this way whether _Azgeda_ had challenged me or not. I might be killed in battle defending our people, or I might die of disease or old age, but all fights end someday, and mine is no different. What is different is that while my fight may end tomorrow, the Commander’s fight will continue. It must _always_ continue. That is why I train all of you: so that when my fight ends, one of you will pick up my sword and continue my legacy.”

She'd said these words to them, or similar, more times than she could count. She could tell by the dullness of their eyes and their slack expressions that they were scant comfort, and she understood: while they had been taught this lesson many times, it had never had such urgency. She had ridden to war before, but now her Nightbloods faced the very real possibility that she would die tomorrow, before their eyes. _Then make it count,_ the Spirit whispered to her, and after a moment she understood.

“Do you know why _Azgeda_ issued the challenge?” Lexa said, switching to _Trigedasleng_ to make certain that the novitiates understood.

After a moment of staring at her with wide eyes, hot-blooded young Borro piped up, “Because their _Haiplana_ is a piece of –"

“ _Em pleni,”_ Lexa told him sharply, while the rest of them giggled. But when her expression stayed serious, their mirth quickly faded. “ _Azgeda_ posed their challenge because they felt that I was unworthy of being _Heda.”_ She held up her hand again to forestall the inevitable eruption of outrage, and the uproar settled quickly. “They believe this because I have invited _Skaikru_ to join our Coalition as the Thirteenth Clan. They say that _Skaikru_ are not like us, that they cannot learn to understand our ways and follow our laws. They say that _Skaikru_ are dangerous, and should be wiped out before they become more so.”

She took a moment to watch the faces of her young charges, observing the wide eyes and youthful seriousness. She often wished they might have had the normal childhood of Polis’s _yongon,_ playing ball games in the streets and chasing each other around and avoiding their work from dawn until dusk. She had never had such a thing so she did not know what it was to miss it, but the differences between her those children and her _Natblida_ were obvious. The Nightbloods’ lives had one point, one purpose only: to Ascend and rule as Commander, or to die in the Conclave and baptize their new _Heda_ ’s rule with their blood. The lives of the children she saw in Polis, and the ones she had met in her travels, seemed full of nothing but possibility.

But much as she might want a different fate for the _Natblida,_ it was times like these that truly brought home to her the reason for the traditions they followed. Specifically, in this case, the mandate that each and every child be brought to the capitol as soon as his or her _shadjus_ was discovered. The Commander was meant to be ruler over all Twelve Clans and to favor none above any others.  By taking them from their families, their villages, and their nations before they were old enough to remember them, the novitiates’ neutrality was assured. Lexa herself was _Leksa kom Trikru,_ but she did not see her people’s lands until her tour, shortly after she assumed Command. She found that the beauty of their forests and rivers and hidden valleys called to her heart, but so did the vast, endless plains of the _Ingranrona_ and the glimmering glaciers of _Azgeda._ The home she felt in her heart, however, would always be the bustling streets of Polis.

And that was why she knew that even if she fell in combat against the prince of _Azgeda,_ her sacrifice would not be in vain. Her novitiates knew the truth that she did: _Trikru, Azgeda,_ and _Skaikru_ alike, they were all one people. Or, at least, they had the potential to become one. All they needed was the chance.

“I invited _Skaikru_ to join our Coalition because I believe that they can, in time, become one with us, become like us. They can learn our laws and our ways, and come to respect our traditions. But they will never be able to do so if we do not give them the opportunity.” She looked at each one of them in turn, making sure that she met each set of eyes and saw them looking back at her with understanding. “That is why I am asking all of you, today, to give me your vow that should I fall tomorrow and you are chosen as _Heda,_ you will remain loyal to the Thirteenth Clan, and protect them as you would any of the Twelve.”

She would have stopped there, but a memory rippled through her so powerfully it made her shudder: the sensation of being pressed against Clarke’s belly, at first only conscious of her scent and the movement of her breathing, but gradually becoming aware of three faint rhythms. Three rhythms, similar and yet distinct, each one separating themselves out more clearly in her mind the longer she listened: three heartbeats. Clarke carried three pups inside of her – three of _Lexa’s_ pups.

She closed her eyes, knowing that while her Nightbloods loved and trusted her implicitly, this was not quite fair to ask them – but she also knew that she had to do it anyway. For all the time that she spent fighting her instincts as an alpha and as Clarke’s mate, she could not fight her instincts as a sire. “And I ask that you protect _Klark kom Skaikru,_ as their Ambassador,” she said, knowing that her voice shook but not able to stop it. Clarke made her weak, and all she could do was try to be strong where it counted: to keep her people safe, she needed to keep her heart safe, and to do that she needed to protect Clarke. After a moment, she forced herself to open her eyes and look at the _Natblida._ “Will you promise me this?”

For a long minute, none of them spoke. Just when Lexa had begun to fear that she might somehow have miscalculated their loyalty to her, Aden rose. “I pledge my loyalty to _Skaikru,_ the Thirteenth Clan,” he said, stiffly, in _Gonasleng._ “And I pledge to protect _Klark kom Skaikru,_ their Ambassador.”

As soon as he had finished speaking, little Riel rose. Her voice was still high and sweet, but it shivered with sincerity. “I pledge my loyalty to _Skaikru,_ the Thirteenth Clan,” she said. “And I pledge to protect _Klark kom Skaikru,_ their Ambassador.”

One by one, all of the _Natblida_ rose to their feet and repeated Aden’s words, their voices ringing with somber promise. Lexa tried her hardest to remain firm and strong, like she knew they needed her to be, but in the end it was too much. She had broken before the final Nightblood’s voice finished echoing through the room. Her head was in her hands and her shoulders shook with silent sobs, tears of love and pride, sorrow and relief flowing freely down her cheeks. She knew she mustn’t let them see her like this – _Heda_ did not break down, did not cry, did not waver or falter or fear; this was something it had taken her a long time to learn, as she had never seen her predecessor in this light.

But her Nightbloods did not greet her with the scorn and derision she was certain she deserved, for such weakness. Instead, she felt a warm, gentle hand on her shoulder, and looked up, sniffing back a sob, to see Aden, his eyes shining down on her with warmth and love and concern. She gave him a watery smile and opened her mouth to apologize, but then Borro was there at her left, practically flinging himself into her lap and shoving his head under her arm as he wrapped his own around her waist. She let her hand settle on his back, feeling the warmth and life of it under her palm, and it was like the floodgates had opened once more. She was soon surrounded by her _Natblida,_ offering her, with many hands and voices and hearts, the comfort that she had tried to give them moments ago, with only her own self.

***

By the time Clarke and Titus arrived, she had recovered herself and so had they. She had sent them all to go and wash up, knowing that Titus would see their tear-streaked faces and would demand a full accounting of what had happened. She might refuse to tell him, and might tell the novitiates that they did not have to break their silence either, but their trust in him was nearly as deeply ingrained as their trust in her. He would have it out of them eventually, one way or another.

So they all crowded into the nearest bathroom, off the council chamber, and it soon echoed with the sounds of their shouting and laughter as they played with the water, throwing it over their heads and faces and at each other until she called a halt. The Nightbloods had obediently marched over to the towel rack and dried themselves, then filed out of the room and returned to their places. Lexa had taken a moment more to herself, making absolutely certain that no trace of her tears remained, and then resumed her throne. “What are the three pillars of being the Commander?” she was asking again as her _Fleimkepa_ and her mate entered the room.

“ _Noun,”_ said Borro, when Lexa looked at him.

“ _Fiyanes,”_ said Tali, meeting Lexa’s eyes.

“ _En uf,”_ said Aden, returning Lexa’s proud gaze with one of his own.

 “Who is chosen to be a Commander?” Lexa said, carefully ignoring the low buzz of Clarke’s and Titus’s voices. She kept her eyes on Aden, knowing that this was an important lesson to reinforce, especially with the nearness of the day that one of them might Ascend.

“A Nightblood whom the Spirit selects,” the boy said, his voice strong. Lexa guessed that he, too, was aware of their audience, and was doing his best to make a good showing. “None but the Spirit can guide. None but the one chosen by the Spirit can rule.”

“How do we best lead as Commanders?” she asked, still watching the young alpha but very conscious of the eyes on her – the slight pinpricks of her novitiates, and the burn of Titus and Clarke.

“By serving our people,” Aden responded. “Each life is valuable, and we suffer every death as our own.”

Lexa had now come to the end of the recitation. She knew the reaction its conclusion might provoke, but she trusted in her _Natblida_ to weather it. “When does a Commander leave their post?”

“Only when their spirit is done upon the Earth and ready to be passed on,” Aden said. To his credit, his voice barely shook.

Only then did Lexa allow herself to look at the rest of the Nightbloods. While there was bravery on their faces, she could also see pain beginning to creep back in at the thought of her spirit’s passing. She gave each of them a comforting smile. “Train hard and remember: each of you is worthy of your Nightblood,” she said. While she knew that Aden was the most promising among them, she wanted each of them to know that just because he seemed to be the frontrunner, the rest of them had hope too. After all, few had expected Lexa to become Commander. Titus had confessed to this himself. But he had also told her that in cases such as hers, where the Spirit’s choice had not been apparent, its wisdom was reinforced by its inscrutability.

As soon as she had finished speaking, Titus stepped forward, calling for the Nightbloods. They stood at his command and began to file out of the room, heading off to whatever lesson he had planned for them that afternoon; Lexa herself was meant to be training lightly and meditating in preparation for her fight. She watched Clarke step aside to let them file out of the room, and didn’t miss the swift glare the omega shot at her _Fleimkepa’_ s back. She frowned. Whatever was between them needed to be settled sooner rather than later; she could not have her mate and her closest advisor in constant conflict.

But as she watched Aden follow the rest of the _Natblida_ out of the room, she was struck by an idea. She had not yet looked directly at Clarke, but she could smell the omega’s worry from all the way across the room as she rose from her throne. _It’s not about you,_ she told herself, as dispassionately as she could, but the squall of love she had just weathered from the Nightbloods had wiped out the calm that had blanketed her soul. She forced herself to consider the facts: if Lexa should die the next afternoon, Clarke might find herself in the center of a storm of unrest. The Conclave would take place immediately, but the next Commander was far from a surety; it was possible that Clarke worried she might find herself at the mercy of a tyrant, Lexa reasoned. _She fears for herself, her pups, and her people. You are not a part of this. You are just a body._ A body that Clarke had pressed herself against last night, a body that carried vivid memories of how the omega tasted, smelled, felt – but nothing more.

“Aden,” she called, rising from her throne. “ _Hod op_.” The boy turned, curiosity in his eyes, but little surprise. A growl stuck in her throat as she wondered just how much he’d guessed about her concern for _Wanheda._ He was always a quick one, possibly too quick. _As you were at his age,_ she reminded herself, and her growl turned to a chuckle.

“Clarke,” she said, “this is Aden.” The omega drew nearer, her face abruptly clouded with confusion. Lexa allowed herself to finally meet Clarke’s eyes, and found, all at once, that her fears had been unfounded. If Clarke had not done what she did the night before – if the future that Lexa had scarcely dared to hope for had not been offered, and then ripped away – she might have found herself unable to hold Clarke’s gaze with her own, knowing that she still had that one bright scrap of hope. But now that she knew her death would mean nothing more to the omega than danger and uncertainty, she could lock eyes with Clarke and tell her that she could rest easy.

Clarke betrayed only the briefest flash of confusion before her face returned to its typical mask of determination – clearly she’d come intending to give Lexa a piece of her mind, the Commander thought with no small amusement. She watched for a second as Clarke and Aden regarded each other, and let herself imagine, briefly, that the end had already come and they were seeing one another not as strangers, but as _Bandrona kom Skaikru_ and the new _Heda._ How would they interact? Would Aden come to understand all that Clarke had meant to Lexa? Would Clarke be able to look into Aden’s eyes without seeing Lexa’s looking back?

“Aden is the most promising of my novitiates,” Lexa said, making both of them look back at her. “If I should die tomorrow, he will likely succeed me.” Clarke’s eyes narrowed at her just a bit, as though to say, _I know what you’re doing here and it won’t work._ But to her own surprise, Lexa found that she was not troubled by the thought, simply amused. She let a slight smile crease her lips as she turned to the young alpha. “Clarke worries about her people,” she said. “Tell her what will happen to them when you become _Heda,_ Aden.”

“If I become _Heda,”_ the boy began, in his stiff, halting _Gonasleng_ – and Lexa certainly did not miss the change of words, from certainty to uncertainty; she thought it possible that it could be attributed to his difficulty with the language, but he was sharp enough that she doubted it – “I pledge my loyalty to the Thirteenth Clan.” Both of them looked back to Lexa, and she nodded at him.

“Thank you. Now go join the others.” After offering a bow, he hurried after his companions. Lexa turned back to Clarke, no longer able to hold back a smirk. “See? Nothing to worry about.”

She had known from the moment the words left her mouth that that would be the wrong thing to say, but she was past caring about much – and certainly not about whether she’d piss Clarke off. She’d provided for the future safety of her mate, her pups, and her mate’s kin; at this point Clarke could ask nothing more of her, surely. The usual trepidation she felt when she knew she’d said or done something to anger the omega was absent as Clarke rounded on her.

“I’m sorry if I’m worried the fate of my people lies in the hands of a child,” the omega said, with some heat.

“Then you worry for nothing,” Lexa said, matching Clarke’s brisk tone as she returned to her throne. She found that her patience with Clarke’s ire was wearing thin. “I’ve given orders that you are to be closely guarded in the event of my death, and I’ve sent Indra to raise an army from the villages surrounding Arkadia, so it will be safe from any _Azgeda_ retaliation. Your people will be protected, as I vowed they would be.”

“This is not just about my people!” Clarke burst out.

Lexa whirled at the Sky girl’s words. A raised eyebrow was the only expression she allowed herself to show, but inside she was a storm of conflict. _Not just about my people – what can she mean? Is it her pups as well? But if I’m protecting her, they will be protected too – can it mean me? Of course it can’t – or at least, not in the way I want it too. She cares about my survival because there_ will _be unrest, there always is with a new Commander and things are more uncertain now than ever –_

“You don’t stand a chance against Roan,” Clarke was hissing, and Lexa let the flash of anger that seared through her narrow her focus. She met Clarke’s glare with one of her own.

“You’ve never seen me fight,” she said, a low growl coloring her tone.

To her credit, Clarke didn’t flinch. “No, but I saw him kill three men in the time it took the first one to hit the ground.”

Lexa’s first instinct was to enumerate her own accomplishments on the battlefield, but at this point she’d regained control of her alpha – if not her temper. “If you’re right, today’s the day my spirit will choose its successor, and you need to accept that.”

Clarke drew in close, her voice low and dangerous. “Like hell I do,” she hissed, before whirling around and storming out of the throne room.

Lexa wanted nothing more than to tear after Clarke, grab the omega and make her stop and explain herself – after what she’d done last night, didn’t she owe Lexa that, at least? But instead she forced herself to sit down, mind circling endlessly around what Clarke could have meant by her words, and the dizzying conflict of her scent – the fear, the anger, the frustration and worry. These were not the sorts of feelings one had about a political ally, she couldn’t help thinking, but she could not arrive at a conclusion as to what they _did_ mean. The only thing she could decide was that Clarke herself did not have that answer.

***

She went about the rest of her day in a bit of a haze, but it was a welcome one. Despite the impending challenge and the very real possibility that she would die the next day, Polis still needed to be run. She heard petitioners, sending a cadre of workmen to one of the southern _Yujleda_ precincts to help them bring in the harvest, in order to allow them to focus their efforts on producing a surplus of lumber that could then be sent to the aid of their _Podakru_ neighbors – a late winter storm had devastated several of the villages along their coastline, and they didn’t have the materials to make the necessary repairs, or the manpower to gather the wood themselves. But the two Clans had long been embroiled in a disagreement over the placement of their neighboring borders, and thus negotiation was impossible – even though it might mean the deaths of their people if they were not able to simply set aside their pride. It fell to Lexa to cut through their stupidity and stubbornness, and simply order that what must be done, should be done. She did not miss the expressions of relief on the faces of the Ambassadors as they accepted her commands.

That afternoon, she headed to the training ground with a few bodyguards at her side. As she exchanged her long coat for light armor and tested the balance of several training swords, she found herself missing Indra. She did not regret sending the beta to Tondisi to raise an army – she was the only person she thought could be trusted with such an assignment, given how tense things were – but the older warrior had known exactly how to train with Lexa in times like these, in order to help her work off her agitation but avoid exhausting her for what was to come. She still remembered the assistance Indra had rendered when she had been fighting off her instincts on the cusp of Clarke’s heat – but then again, that was not exactly a safe place for her mind to go. She focused on the face of Rogor, one of the bodyguards, and gave him a brisk nod before beginning to circle him warily, sword held in guard position.

They had been training for perhaps an hour – Lexa had begun to sweat lightly through her armor, even though the day was brisk and cold, the sun blindingly bright one moment and then slipping behind dark clouds the next – when an uproar from the steadily growing audience of Polis citizens – who surely had better things to do than watch their _Heda_ prepare to fight for her life – drew her attention. A runner was forcing his way through the crowd, and after exchanging a few rapid phrases with the guards at the entrance to the ring, was allowed to wait just outside the fence while _Heda_ was summoned. Lexa was already jogging over, having recognized the lanky, coltish girl – she was too young yet to be a warrior’s Second, but Lexa had seen her more than once among the other young recruits in the training pits. “ _Chit ste kom au?”_ she said, ignoring the runner’s attempts to conceal her excitement with a bow.

It turned out that the uproar was over the provisioning of her opponent, Prince Roan – as a prisoner, he was barred from the training ground, and had been shadow-fighting, chained, in the middle of a busy street. Lexa allowed herself to roll her eyes at the obvious tactic, and then turned to one of her guards. “Please invite the Prince to use one of the training rings at the far end of the ground.”

“But _Heda -”_

She let out a low growl, curling her lip just enough to inform him that she didn’t care what the proper procedure dictated, she wasn’t going to him causing unrest by practicing swordplay in her city’s streets, and he gulped down the rest of what he was going to say and headed off with a bow. Absurdly satisfied, she returned to her practicing, inviting two more opponents to attack her with a sharp jerk of her head.

She left the training ring soon after, probably an hour before she ordinarily would – but today was no ordinary day. Her blood burned to keep working, to keep fighting until she’d either sweated out the agitation that felt like a thousand gnats under her skin or she’d exhausted the supply of warriors willing to train with her, but she knew that she mustn’t tire herself out. She needed to be fresh and limber for tomorrow, not weary and beaten before she’d begun. She tried to tell herself that she did not feel that way as she doffed her armor and slipped her arms back into her long coat, held out for her by a bruised and staggering Rogor.

She had time for a quick bath and a change of clothing and was contemplating brushing out her hair and redoing her braids when she heard a knock on the door of her chamber. “Enter,” she called out, expecting Titus – and she was right, but she had not anticipated the look of grimness on his face.

“ _Heda,_ ” he said, low, “there is something you must see.”

Her heart nearly stopped in her chest when she entered her throne room at Titus’s side to see Clarke standing there, covered in black blood from her hairline to her neck. With an extreme effort of will she kept her steps from faltering, but she stopped far short of where she wanted to, wrestling with her instincts: to charge forward and pull Clarke into her embrace, roaring out a challenge to whoever had issued this threat. She didn’t let herself get within smelling distance of her mate, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from this kind of display. When he saw that she would go no further, Titus stepped into the gap between the omega and herself, reaching out a shaking hand to touch the dark, sticky stain. He held it to his nose and sniffed quietly, confirming to himself what Lexa already knew. It was the same substance that flowed through her own veins, after all.

“What happened?” Lexa said, when she could trust her voice. It came out, haltingly, with many gaps that suggested that Clarke was holding some information back, that she had been trying to treat with Nia, to forestall the challenge. Lexa turned away when she heard that, biting her tongue furiously in an attempt to keep from snarling. This had to happen; by all of the sacred laws of _Heda,_ once a challenge had been issued it could not be taken back. She was sure that underneath it all, Clarke’s intentions were good – she wanted to make certain that her people would not be at the mercy of a tyrant like Nia – but the lack of confidence Clarke betrayed in her skills made her burn.

When Clarke described how Nia had held cut the unnamed alpha’s hand and held it, dripping, over her face, Lexa whirled. But her gaze did not linger on the omega’s, even though she could see Clarke’s desperate confusion; instead, her eyes met Titus’s. The _Fleimkepa_ let out a long, slow breath. “A Commander from the Ice Nation,” he said grimly. Lexa nodded. So Nia had discovered a Nightblood among her people, but instead of sending her to Polis, as the law of _Heda_ dictated, she had kept her for herself, raised and trained her in secret, imbuing her with loyalties to _Azgeda_ alone. The practice of taking those blessed with _shadjus_ so young often seemed harsh, but this was precisely what the Search was intended to prevent. A Commander’s loyalty must be, above all else, to their people – _all_ of their people. This girl – Ontari – would not have learned that, nor would she have learned any of the other lessons that were intrinsic to being _Heda_ , that Lexa and her novitiates would have begun committing to memory from the moment they arrived in Polis. Before they’d even stopped crying for their parents at night, they would have begun memorizing the recitations: _What are the three pillars of being the Commander?_

_Wisdom, compassion, and strength…_

“Now all of Nia’s provocations make sense, and we played right into it,” Titus said darkly, walking back to her. A moment later, Clarke followed.

“I’ve never seen blood that color before,” she said. Lexa forced herself not to focus on the dark splash marring her Sky girl’s golden face.

“It goes back to the first Commander,” she said woodenly. “When a Nightblood child is found, they're brought to Polis to be trained. Or supposed to be.”

“Your legacy is no longer secure,” Titus said urgently, stepping closer and partially obscuring her from Clarke’s shocked and horrified gaze. “There is still time to choose a champion.”

All at once Lexa’s frustration boiled over. “You know I can't do that,” she growled, pushing past both him and Clarke. Would there ever come a day when those who cared about her _trusted_ in her courage, her strength, to protect them? Or was she to always be in doubt, always to be suspected of _weakness?_

 _“Heda,”_ he tried to protest, but Lexa’s patience was at its end.

“ _Leave us!”_ she snarled. She stood with her back turned against him, taking deep breaths of the early evening air and trying to ignore the fact that all she could seem to smell was Clarke.

The moment the heavy doors thudded shut, Clarke was stalking towards her, concern and agitation muddying her voice and scent. “Titus is right,” she said, as though it didn’t pain her to say. “You’re giving her exactly what she wants!”

Lexa knew that she mustn’t behave this way – it was unworthy of her as _Heda,_ and moreover, this was _Clarke_ – but she was still an alpha, and her blood was up. “ _Only_ if I lose,” she snapped, whirling on the omega. Clarke flinched at the vehemence of her words and the fury in her smell, and all at once she felt sorry enough to rein in her anger. She drew in a breath, shaking her head to clear it and pacing to hold back the tension that thrummed through her muscles. _Focus – you can’t lose your temper now. Not at her. There’s too much at stake._

“I know you’re just trying to help, Clarke, but there’s nothing you can do here,” she said, starting to pace. She knew that Clarke had not grown up as she had, had not been brought up to accept the inevitability of fate, of the Spirit’s will – and that was part of what she most admired and loved about the Sky girl, that no matter what impossible odds she faced, she was still prepared to fight. But there was a certain stillness of spirit that came with accepting one’s fate, one’s place in the order of things, and attempting to fulfill that destiny as best as she could – and it was that calm that Clarke’s increasing agitation was eroding.

“I can’t just let Roan kill you!”  

“If that is to be my fate, you must,” Lexa snapped, whirling on Clarke again before resuming her tense pacing. “You’re driven to fix everything for everyone, but you can’t fix this.”

The look on Clarke’s face nearly broke her. It was the first truly unguarded expression she’d seen from the omega since she came here – the first one, that was, that was voluntary. Clarke had exposed the way she’d felt the night before, when she’d pressed Lexa’s head to her belly to hear the life growing within her, and then when she’d drawn her to her feet and kissed her – but it had been too much, too soon. Here, now, she was letting Lexa see the fear and worry and care she felt at the prospect of the alpha’s death, and it was almost too much to bear. She wanted nothing more than to take her mate into her arms and press kisses to her lips, her face, her hair, to whisper to her that it was going to be all right and that she had nothing to fear – but she couldn’t do that, and Clarke wouldn’t let her. Her voice cracked on her next words. “I have to do this on my own, and you have to let me.”

“I won’t just sit here and watch you die!” Clarke shouted, a keen edge of desperation in her tone. Lexa forced herself to hold her gaze.

“Then I guess this is goodbye…for now.”

Clarke let out something that sounded like a cross between a snarl and a sob, and then whirled around, storming out of the throne room. Lexa watched her go as long as she could, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall when she realized that this might be the last time she saw Clarke in her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigedasleng:**
> 
> _Solo gonplei...gona gon gona. Gon wamplei:_ Single combat...warrior against warrior. To the death.  
>  _Haiplana kom Azgeda:_ Queen of the Ice Nation  
>  _Hedon:_ Rule, law  
>  _Mebi ste raitnes en houd pas eting:_ Maybe there is justice in the world after all.  
>  _Ai laik Heda. Non na throu daun gon ai:_ I am the Commander. No one fights for me.  
>  _Chit choj yo op:_ What's eating you (all)?  
>  _Tel ai op:_ Tell me.  
>  _Osir don sen in:_ We (excludes the listener) had heard  
>  _Raun Gonasleng:_ In English  
>  _Ai biyo moba:_ I'm sorry  
>  _Em pleni:_ Enough  
>  _Shadjus:_ Black blood  
>  _Noun:_ Wisdom  
>  _Fiyanes:_ Compassion  
>  _Uf:_ Strength  
>  _Chit ste kom au:_ What is happening?


	10. we're yet to bleed, we're yet to bleed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...you guys are probably going to kill me, but I realized I wasn't going to be able to get Sneaky Slytherin Clarke Griffin in the same chapter as the fight scene with Roan, and the smutty smut that comes after. So I've broken the chapter up into two parts. But if I can, I will DEFINITELY post the second half earlier, because I love you all! Let me know what you think in the comments, or on tumblr @n1ghtwr1ter.
> 
> [](http://s558.photobucket.com/user/calfaolan/media/green78%20-%20young%20gods%20cover_zpsi9hmjfrz.jpg.html)  
> 

“If that is to be my fate, then you have to let me.”

Clarke stared at Lexa like she wasn’t speaking English or Trigedasleng or any recognizable language, and in truth she wasn’t sure how she was supposed to respond. Essentially the alpha was telling her that if she was to die at Roan’s hands, under the eyes of the entire city and the leaders of the Twelve Clans, and then a bunch of children were going to kill each other to see who would inherit her spirit – how the fuck was she supposed to accept that? It beggared belief, and even more so the idea that Lexa thought she was going to take this lying down.

“Like hell I do,” Clarke snarled, then whirled and stormed out of the chamber.

At first she wasn’t sure where she was going, but as she wound her way down and down Polis’s many staircases, its dark, dank stairwells lit with flickering candles, her path became somewhat clearer: _out._ She needed out. She wasn’t sure where she was going to go, but she absolutely couldn’t stay in the same building as someone so stupid, so pigheaded, so insufferably _alpha._

Lexa hadn’t explicitly granted her the freedom of the tower, but the guards didn’t challenge her on her way out, and soon she had immersed herself in the flowing crowds of the city. She knew that she would likely be lost very soon, but she was too furious to be worried. Besides, she knew there were at least two of Lexa’s guards tailing her, and they weren’t doing a very good job of it – the crowd parted around the two hulking men as they huffed along in their heavy armor.

For a time, Clarke just let the flow of the city take her where it pleased, stewing in her anger and calling Lexa every filthy name she could imagine (and a few more she invented on the spot, just for the Commander’s special brand of idiocy). This was ludicrous, she thought as she stormed along, largely lost in her own thoughts but unafraid to throw an elbow here or there to maintain her personal bubble. Lexa had nothing to gain and everything to lose from accepting Nia’s challenge. Her life, her leadership, the peace of the city, her pups…

She stopped herself before she could continue that line of reasoning. She knew what she had been about to think – _her mate_ – but Lexa didn’t think of her that way…did she? Clarke let out a frustrated growl and tried to turn, to storm off in a different direction in the hopes that it would redirect her thoughts as well, but the crowd had begun to press around her. Realizing that whatever they were headed towards had to be near, Clarke stopped fighting the flow.

Before long, she began to notice that the general buzz of the people around her had gained in both volume and excitement, and that the crowd had something more of a direction. At first, Clarke’s heart sank: what if they were near some training facility or other, where Lexa was certain to be preparing for her bout? But the buildings around them remained tall and close, and soon she realized that they were only coming to a clearing – what looked to be a market square, if the stalls and carts she could see through the press of bodies were any indication. But they were all pressed against the sides of the surrounding buildings, clearing a space in the center, and that was where people were clustered. After a moment of concerted shoving, Clarke could see why.

The central clearing was enforced by a cohort of guards, most of whom looked to be _Trikru_ , but Clarke could make out the pale furs and intricate scarification of some members of _Azgeda._ They were all huge, hulking alphas with similarly dark expressions, but at first glance Clarke couldn’t say whether they were there to keep the crowd out – or keep their prisoner in. _Probably a bit of both,_ she decided when she saw who it was.

Roan was standing in the middle of the square, twirling and dodging and swinging a one-handed sword through an intricate sequence. The beta seemed so at home with the blade in his hand that Clarke abruptly came to understand what the fantasy books she'd read on the Ark had meant when they referred to someone using such a weapon as though it were an extension of his arm. Her heart dropped into her stomach when she thought of Lexa facing down this kind of prowess. Oh, she was certain that the alpha was skilled, but Roan was nearly twice her size and powerfully built. She didn’t need to flash back to when she'd seen him kill three men in the time it would have taken her to scream; this particular display was all she needed to convince her of Lexa's doom.

 _Unless I can convince him to throw the fight._ The thought seemed to come out of nowhere and she almost dismissed it out of hand, but small pieces of memory were coalescing in her mind, as they often did, to form a bigger picture. When Nia had named her son as her champion, she had done so proudly, acting as though she were bestowing a great honor; the Prince, however, had only accepted the nomination with a nod, and maintained his habitually inscrutable expression. His lack of enthusiasm suggested that all was not forgiven between mother and son, and made Clarke wonder whether his loyalties might lie more with _Azgeda_ than with its queen.

But how to test that loyalty? Clarke’s eyes narrowed, searching the perimeter of the makeshift training ring. While many people in the crowd merely seemed interested to see what this challenger to their _Heda's_ authority was capable of, there were plenty of faces that looked openly hostile. If she could foment some kind of unrest, enough to cause a disturbance that would require the attention of some of the guards, that might create enough of an opening for her to attract Roan's attention.

Searching the crowd more by scent than by sight, Clarke quickly zeroed in on the nearest – and angriest – alpha. Drawing her hood further down over her face, she sidled up to him and then muttered, “ _Nomonjoka.”_ When he turned, fury plain on his face, she quickly gestured to the prince. “ _Hainofa-de. Heda na frag du op.”_ The man's face cleared, recognizing a like mind, and Clarke seized her chance. “It's insulting that they even offer this challenge,” she growled in Trigedasleng. “Their queen should be executed and they should be driven from the city in shame.”

The alpha responded with a roar, shaking his fist in the air and repeating her words at top volume. A moment later he had a chorus of other voices joining him, and several of the guards were headed in their direction, looking grim. _There we go,_ Clarke thought, pleased with herself. _That was easy enough._

What turned out to be considerably harder was forcing her way through a crowd of irate alphas, all of them smelling so angry it was nearly enough to turn her head. But she kept low, held her sleeve to her nose, and managed to slink around the edge of the crowd, to where the southernmost guard post stood unoccupied.

Roan continued his sword-work as she approached, and at first she thought he hadn't noticed her. But then he spun on his heels, so fast that she hardly even saw it, and suddenly his blade was at her neck. _Shit, that nose of his. How’d I forget?_

“Is that death I hear stalking me, or just the Commander of Death?” Roan demanded. Clarke lowered her hood.

After regarding her for a moment, he went back to his swordplay with a scoff. “What do you want? I need to get ready.”

Clarke stepped a bit closer, forcing him to halt his swing. “I want you to become king.”

At that, Roan turned to her fully, sword at his side. This close, Clarke could smell the agitation under the cover of his bland beta scent. She would have known she hit a nerve even if she couldn't, however – his eyes were constantly moving, shifting away from hers and back again, rather than the usual steady inscrutability of his pale gaze. “And how do you propose I do that? My mother is alive and well.”

“Your _mother_ is making you fight in _her_ challenge,” Clarke said, her tone dripping with savage disdain. “Your _mother_ had you exiled, like you didn't matter. You don't mean anything to her. But as King? No one will be able to do that to you, ever again. A king can't be exiled from his kingdom.”

Roan snorted, but didn't demur. He went back to twirling his sword with easy grace, but Clarke could tell he was listening. “What you're proposing is treason,” he said casually, as though they were discussing the weather or the food at dinner the other night. “My people would never stand for it.”

 _That's not a no,_ Clarke realized, as he watched her with his predatory gaze, coolly evaluating her weak points as though he intended to carve her up from head to toe. It was rather like being in an enclosed area with a panther that had just eaten a large meal. Clarke could not remember having ever been so intimidated by someone who wasn't an alpha before.

“It's only treason if they find out,” Clarke began carefully, but shut her mouth the next moment - the guards had managed to quell the disturbance and were headed back in their direction, looking grimly determined.

Roan shook his head. “They'll find out. Nothing’s a secret forever, _Wanheda_ ,” he said, nodding towards her stomach. Clarke had to force herself not to sling a protective arm around it's subtle curve.

“I couldn't do it,” Roan continued, casually moving into another set of forms. “But you could.”

“ _Hei! Sef of! Chit yu bilaik?”_ Clarke threw her hood over her head, hoping she'd been quick enough that they wouldn't have recognized her, and began melting back into the crowd. The guards clustered around Roan, shouting their suspicions at him and demanding to know who he’d been talking to, and Clarke knew she had to get going. But she had no idea how to accomplish what Roan had suggested, and she knew he wouldn't have proposed it if he hadn't thought of a way. So she took a risk, raising her voice over the noise of the crowd to shout, “How am I supposed to do that?”

One of the guards started towards her, and she flinched back, worried that even behind her shield of two tall betas that they'd be able to smell her out. She began creeping away through the throng as stealthily as she could, thinking, _What a waste of time,_ but then she heard Roan call back just before the guards pulled him away, “How do you kill a wolf?”

Clarke threw herself behind a pile of crates, heart hammering, as she waited for the guard chasing her to go by. As soon as she'd ceased being able to smell his alpha stink, she pulled herself to her feet and began making her way towards where Polis tower jutted into the sky, its flame ever-burning. “Fucking Roan,” she growled to herself under her breath. “Fucking stupid asshole who can't stop speaking in fucking riddles long enough to –“

She abruptly stopped dead, making the person behind her nearly ram into her back. The beta woman started cursing her out in Trigedasleng, but Clarke hardly noticed – Roan hadn't just been talking gibberish. “ _Feisbona,”_ she whispered to herself. _How do you kill a wolf?_

With wolfsbane.

***

It was distressingly easy for Clarke to acquire wolfsbane. When she arrived back at Polis tower and presented herself to the guards at the lower door – who seemed torn between fury and astonishment that she'd managed to escape without their notice – and asked, sweet as you please, to be taken to the _fisa_ , as she needed a remedy for a _personal_ issue. She didn't elaborate, but the two large, burly alphas visibly blanched before stepping off smartly in the direction of the apothecary’s quarters.

The beta wasn't there, having apparently gone in search of lunch, but Clarke assured the guards that she'd be just fine waiting on her own for him to get back. A bit of eyelash-batting and a slight exertion of her omega pheromones and she had sent them packing, dopey smiles on their faces. Allowing herself a smirk, she picked the lock to the healer’s shop and slipped inside. It took her a couple of extra minutes to find what she needed – wolfsbane wasn't exactly a common remedy after all – but around the time she started sweating and worrying that she was going to be caught, she found a dusty bottle of the stuff tucked in the back of a cabinet. There wasn't much, but she could tell that there would be enough.

The next step – and, Clarke thought, surely the hardest one – was to somehow gain an audience with the Ice Queen. She made her way swiftly and quietly through the tower, taking advantage of the general chaos that the arrival of twelve Clans’ worth of dignitaries caused to remain unnoticed. When she reached the corridor guarded by huge, hulking alphas wearing pale furs and strange scars, she knew she’d found the right place.

She crouched in a corner, sweating, ideas and scenarios racing through her head at light speed, but none of them seemed particularly likely to work. In the end, she just decided to come at it head-on. What was the worst that could happen, after all? _You could wind up with your head in a box,_ she thought, remembering, _and be delivered to Lexa right before she has to fight for her life._ But she seriously doubted it. _Azgeda_ were more or less prisoners in their chambers, honored hostages treated with the utmost courtesy but not allowed to leave until their challenge had been met. If any harm came to her, Clarke had no doubt that Lexa wouldn’t rest until the floors of Polis tower ran red with _Azgeda_ blood.

Muttering “Fuck it” under her breath, she rose from her crouch and marched directly up to the alphas guarding the corridor. They stank badly of sweat and aggression, and Clarke had to fight the urge to cover her nose. Lexa’s smell was typically light and clean, only intensifying when she’d been training or was in rut. She knew that the mark on her neck predisposed her to experience her mate’s smell as far preferable to all others, but she doubted that she would have been interested in these alphas even had she not been mated. She couldn’t be certain that either of these alphas had ever taken baths in their lives.

“I’m here to see your _Haiplana,_ ” she told them, her tone firm and commanding. One of the guards started to growl, but the other elbowed him in the gut.

“ _Em pleni. Sha, Wanheda,”_ he said, turning to Clarke. “ _Ai na as em op.”_

Clarke nodded, and he departed down the hall to the largest set of doors, leaving Clarke and his companion to glare at one another. The silence and the waiting left space for doubt to creep in, however, and Clarke was soon chewing her lip, looking at her boots. How was she going to do this? This was so, _so_ beyond the realm of smart ideas – of _survival_ – in which she’d been living for so long as to forget that anything else existed. The prospect of asking herself _why_ made her want to run back to the woods where Roan had found her, where the only person she'd been living for had been herself and where her days had been – not simple, but they'd had a simple purpose.

And now? Now she was looking at killing a _queen,_ assassinating the ruler of a nation, and for what? What would she gain from this? _It will mean safety for my people, at least for now,_ she thought, meaning to leave the matter there, but her traitorous brain said, And?

 _If Lexa dies, the Coalition falls,_ Clarke thought, remembering Kane’s words. There would be a power vacuum while the new Commander was chosen, and Nia would strike, seizing control of the Coalition – _hell, she's got them in her pocket already._ She couldn't forget the way the ambassadors had all stood, facing the throne, chanting words that had sent a chill down her spine: _No Heda nou mou!_

 _So Nia takes over the Coalition,_ Clarke thought, watching as the other guard returned down the hallway, a worried look on his face. _And even if she doesn't…_ She recalled the boy that Lexa had introduced to her – Aden, she thought his name was – and couldn't help but despair at just how young he looked, how new, how innocent. She was certain that he was a fine warrior, but he wasn't a killer. She had seen that in his face. She and Lexa had killed to keep their people safe, and would do so again – _case in point,_ she thought wryly as she followed the alpha guard towards where Nia waited. While Lexa might have placed her trust in this boy – and while that trust might be well-warranted – she was not convinced. She had no use for a Commander who could not do what must be done.

 _So, you're doing this to protect your people,_ she told herself as she watched the doors swing open. _Nia’s death will protect your people, yourself, your pups, your mate…fuck._ But she didn't have time to properly chastise herself for the slip, because the Ice Queen’s chamber lay open, and the Queen herself was waiting. Swallowing hard, Clarke stepped in.

Nia was seated at the head of a long table, tucking into what appeared to be a feast. As Clarke strode forward, attempting to project a confidence she didn't feel – or, at the very least, keep from betraying how badly her legs were shaking – she watched the _Haiplana_ suck the meat off a chicken bone, and then pat the grease from her lips with a cloth almost daintily. She didn't look up from her meal until Clarke was nearly at her side, and Clarke thought, _This will be easy._

Until someone emerged from the shadows – a girl, smelling very lightly of alpha – and Clarke stopped short. She stepped forward holding a jug, and freshened her Queen’s cup, but her eyes never left Clarke’s. They were so dark as to nearly be black, like twin bottomless pools in which swam unmentionable things. Clarke shuddered in the grip of her gaze, but then the girl stepped aside to stand behind the Queen’s right shoulder. Well, this complicated things. This girl might be acting as a handmaiden, but the way she stood, and the way she eyed Clarke, told her she was probably much closer to a bodyguard. She would have to be careful.

“ _Klark kom Skaikru, ai Haiplana,”_ the guard at the door announced.

Nia smacked her lips and let out a satisfied sigh before finally turning her attention to Clarke. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

To what _did_ Nia owe the pleasure? How was she supposed to convince the Queen to let her close enough to slip poison into her body when Clarke had been the lone voice of dissent mere hours ago, stopping her attempted coup? For all Nia knew, Clarke was on Lexa's side. She would have to convince the alpha otherwise.

“What if I changed my vote?” Clarke said. Yes, that would work. It sounded like she was hoping for a nonviolent resolution to Nia's challenge – Lexa would be deposed, but would escape with her life. It would make sense to Nia, given Clarke's presumptive care for Lexa, and both of their ends would be accomplished. She kept her gaze coolly on the Queen, thinking, _I'm just a scared little omega, frightened that my big strong alpha protector won’t survive the challenge, and worried about what will happen to me when she loses._

Nia looked at her more fully now, cocking her head and considering her with an expression that reminded Clarke strongly of a hawk deciding whether to stoop upon potential prey. The omega tried not to fidget. “Now you’re thinking like a leader of your people,” the Queen said, her face and voice abruptly becoming warm, approving.

“I would need some assurances first,” Clarke said, pacing closer, careful to keep her voice and face on the border of wary and hostile. The Ice Queen had expressed interest more easily than she had anticipated, and she didn’t want to give the game away too soon. Preferably not until Nia was convulsing in her dying throes and she was safely far away from here.

“ _Skaikru_ will be safe,” the Queen said, abruptly businesslike, wiping the knife she’d been using to cut her food on a cloth.

“And me?”

“My quarrel is with Lexa, not with you,” Nia said, stabbing her knife into the worn wood of the table to punctuate her words. “Once she’s gone, I won’t need the power of _Wanheda._ ” She offered Clarke a predatory grin, and Clarke thought, _Bullshit. You want all the power you can get. Once Lexa’s gone, nothing will stop you from taking it._

She took a moment to bite her lip, looking like she was chewing over her options, then nodded once. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Nia said, eyebrows rising, and cold fear curdled in Clarke’s gut – had she overplayed it? “You don’t want vengeance for the dead at Mount Weather?”

“My priority is with the living, not the dead,” Clarke said, the lie coming sour off her tongue. In truth, she would have liked nothing more than to see Nia burn for what she had done – but that would not serve her purposes. _Not yet._

Nia nodded, but her eyes were still troubled, and Clarke could tell she was not entirely convinced. Moving closer still, she was conscious of the eyes of the young alpha handmaiden on her, but she kept her gaze locked on the Queen. She heard the girl start forward when Clarke reached out boldly and seized the Queen's own knife from where it was embedded in the table, but Nia's gaze flicked back momentarily over her shoulder, a silent message to wait. Clarke would have to be quick.

“ _Oso tai choda op kom jus,”_ she said, before drawing the blade across her palm. A line of red bloomed there, and she bit her lip to stifle a hiss of pain, before completing the rest of the ritual of offering: she wiped the knife clean across her sleeve, then plunged it back down into the wood of the table. Holding her hand out so that Nia could see the blood that dripped from it, she fixed the Queen with a steady gaze and waited. Everything was complete now; all she could do was pray that Nia had not noticed the slight variation Clarke had added to the ritual: namely, the slim pouch of poison she had sliced open while pretending to wipe the knife clean.

The Ice Queen’s eyes flickered between Clarke’s hand and the knife, before she leaned back in her chair. “I see you’ve learned our oath,” she said, her voice smooth and warm again.

“Do you accept?” Clarke said, fighting to keep her voice just as calm.

Slowly, Nia rose, pacing around the edge of the table. She seized her knife and held up her hand, and Clarke’s heart fluttered in her chest like a bird beating against a windowpane. “ _Oso tai choda op kom jus,”_ the alpha repeated, and raised the knife to mimic Clarke’s actions. Clarke’s gaze was fixed on the bead of liquid that trembled at the blade’s very edge – the poison that would soon run through Nia’s veins, burning the cruel light out of her eyes and removing the danger from her mate and pups –

_“Hod op!”_

Clarke whirled, but before she could even see who had spoken she was in a firm, expert hold and thrown half onto the table, her head smacking against the wood hard enough to make her ears ring. The image of the other alpha – _definitely not just a handmaiden,_ Clarke thought blearily – blurred dizzily back and forth in front of her face, but she could tell that the girl was snarling.

“Ontari!” Nia shouted, with what might have been startlement or censure. Instead of responding to her Queen, the girl raised Clarke’s arm to her nose and sniffed.

 _“Feisbona,”_ she said in a growl, and Clarke’s blood ran cold.

This was it. She was surely done for. She wasn’t sure who this Ontari was to Nia, but she was clearly a very well-trained warrior, and she’d utterly incapacitated Clarke within moments. Clarke attempted to struggle, but the alpha’s grip was iron and she soon gave it up, panting, telling herself to save her strength – but for what, she had no clue.

“We could have been allies, Clarke,” the Ice Queen said, picking up the discarded dagger and wiping it carefully with the cloth. “Instead, I declare you and your people enemies of _Azgeda.”_

As she watched Nia approach with the blade, Clarke was certain that death was on her heels. The older alpha would plunge the knife into her heart, and it would be the end for her and her pups – and Lexa too, even if she managed to somehow win tomorrow. Nia would probably string her body up at the top of Polis tower to make it clear to everyone that she’d taken the power of _Wanheda,_ and one by one all of the Clans would bow to _Azgeda._ How had this gone so wrong, so fast?

Panic filled her brain, suddenly making her that terrified omega that she’d been impersonating for Nia. She began to struggle against Ontari’s hold even though she knew it would do her no good, but the younger alpha’s grip held fast. In desperation, she said, “If you kill me, Lexa will make sure that none of you make it out of Polis alive!”

“Oh, I’m not going to kill you,” Nia said, smiling cruelly down at her before turning her attention to Ontari and barking, “Hold out your hand.” The younger girl obeyed instantly, and Clarke stared in horror and confusion as her Queen drew the blade across her palm, cutting much more deeply than Clarke had. At first she thought it had to be a mistake, a trick of the light, but as blood welled from the gash, Clarke realized it wasn’t red, but black.

Discarding the dagger, Nia reached around Ontari’s hand and drew it into a fist, before holding it over Clarke’s face and squeezing. Blood black as ink spattered down over the omega’s forehead and dripped into her eyes and mouth, and she spluttered, struggling to get away from the sluggish flow. “You’re going to take my message to Lexa,” the Ice Queen hissed, getting so close that her breath fanned across Clarke’s face. “I have my own _Natblida,_ and she will be the next Commander, once Lexa is dead.”

 _Oh fuck._ Clarke’s eyes widened. Suddenly it all made sense. _Natblida –_ that was what Titus had called the novitiates, the ones Lexa had been training to succeed her. But here was Ontari – ruthless, unafraid of pain, and utterly loyal to Nia. Looking up into the young alpha’s eyes, she saw no pity there, no humanity. If this girl became Commander, _Skaikru_ wouldn’t last a week.

“Go,” the Ice Queen said harshly, and Ontari yanked her off the table and set her on her feet, giving her a shove that propelled her towards the door. It wasn’t necessary – Clarke was already taking off at a clip just shy of running. “Show your face to Lexa, if you dare. Tell her that she’s failed – and that I will sit on her throne within the fortnight!”

Nia’s words rang in Clarke’s ears as she hurried towards the throne room, where she knew Lexa would be in consultation with Titus, most likely making arrangements for the Conclave, should it take place tomorrow. Her thoughts were whirling in terrified dervishes, making her feel dizzy, and she hardly noticed the startled looks that were flung at her black-streaked face. All she could think was that she had to get to Lexa, had to tell her what had happened, had to warn her that everything they’d worked for, the peace that they’d built on the blood of 300 Grounders and the citizens of Mount Weather and Tondisi, was about to go up in flames. Nia had planted more than one bomb, Clarke realized. It had just taken this one longer to go off.

But Lexa was fucking _stupid_ , and stubborn, and brave, and noble, and she was going to die – even after Clarke explained the situation, and why she mustn’t fight tomorrow; even after Titus begged her to let someone else fight in her stead, that her legacy might not fall into the hands of someone like Ontari. _I am the Commander,_ she’d said. _No one fights for me._ And she was keeping to that oath, even if – _when_ – it killed her.

Clarke’s nerves were at the breaking point by now, with all that she’d been through in the past twelve hours, and she nearly burst into tears and swore at Lexa and told her that she wasn’t allowed to fucking do this, because Clarke needed her. “I won’t just sit here and watch you die!” she shouted at her mate, only just managing to keep herself from grabbing Lexa and shaking her – but Lexa had only nodded at her, very gravely.

“Then this is goodbye…for now.”

Clarke couldn’t bear it anymore, couldn’t stand to look her in the face. Letting out a strangled sob, she whirled and stormed from the hall for the second time that day, unable to meet Lexa’s calm green gaze – the eyes of someone who had seen her death, and accepted it.

***

The hollow beat of a drum started slowly but increased at a frantic rate, echoed Clarke’s racing heartbeat as she forged her way through Polis’s crowds. There weren’t many times that she regretted being an omega, but she had to admit that the ability to make people step aside by the mere exertion of her pheromones, and at worst the judicious use of a commanding tone, would have come in handy at a time like this. As it was, she got little more than a few growls and dirty looks as she shoved through the thicket of bodies – everyone was too intent on what was taking place in the ring.

The crowd roared all at once, and Clarke let out a gasp before she could stop herself. _Did they already start? But it’s not yet noon!_ Suddenly terrified that she would find Lexa bleeding out on the arena sands by the time she arrived, she redoubled her efforts, nearly knocking over one particularly recalcitrant beta who snarled when she told him to move.

Images of what could be happening that very moment flashed through her brain as she continued her slow progress. Lexa hopelessly outmatched by the much larger Roan – suddenly grown to gigantic size in her mind – and backing away helplessly, her sword forgotten on the dirt, as he advanced on her, murder in his eyes. Lexa, her throat slit, her eyes lifeless, black blood pouring from many wounds as the Prince of _Azgeda_ raised his weapon in victory. Lexa – never to speak again, to smile, to aggravate Clarke, to kiss her – never to see their pups… Clarke’s breath came quicker at each mental image her mind conjured, too aggravated to remind herself that it was the Commander’s protection she feared losing, not Lexa.

The crowd roared again, and she nearly screamed in agitation and worry, but she could see light pouring through the gap between two tall, willowy omegas. She hurried toward it, desperation searing through her, but then she heard Titus’s voice ringing out over the noise: “ _Hashta soulou gonplei, bilaik won hedon en nomou: du souda wan op deyon.”_

 _They haven’t started yet,_ Clarke realized, relief flooding her limbs and making them shake. _I still have time to tell her..._ But she recognized the dangerous path down which her mind was treading, and hurried to cut the thought off before she could figure out what she wanted Lexa to know. All she knew was that she had to be here, and she wanted Lexa to know that she was here, so that if the worst should happen… _Fuck,_ Clarke snarled, mostly at herself. _Can you maybe stop being such a sap for five seconds?_

The people of Polis gave another great shout, and Clarke recognized the ring of steel being unsheathed. Making a final push toward the rapidly narrowing gap, she burst into the sunlight in time to see Lexa unclipping her shoulderguard and handing it to an attendant. The beta offered the Commander her sword, still in its scabbard, but at that moment Clarke removed her hood. Lexa noticed her immediately, either by scent or because she’d been surreptitiously searching the crowd for her, even knowing how they’d parted and assuming that Clarke wouldn’t be there, that she wouldn’t care – Clarke’s heart stung with emotion, and the words that she’d intended to say fled her mouth.

Lexa, for her part, looked as though her world had stood still the moment she’d caught sight of Clarke. The noise of the crowd seemed to fade as they regarded one another for a long moment.

“I’m glad you came,” Lexa said at last, her words barely audible. There was something like acceptance in her eyes, and Clarke felt fear rise into her throat at what it might mean.

“Me too,” she said, desperation choking her voice. She felt as though a dam had broken within her, as everything she'd been suppressing, every feeling she'd been keeping trapped within her ribcage, finally broke free. She wanted nothing more than to fling herself at Lexa, to hold her tight and to never let her go, to tell her that she wasn’t allowed to do this because she needed her. Clarke needed her, needed the Commander but needed _Lexa_ too, needed her mate and the sire of her pups to be with her when they were born, to raise them with her, to watch as they opened their eyes and took their first steps and smiled, as they fell in love and got their hearts broken and found love once more. _I need you,_ she thought at Lexa, willing the alpha to hear her somehow. _Don’t do this, please. Don’t go where I can’t follow. I can’t do this without you._

But Lexa only gave her the barest of smiles before turning and drawing her sword from its sheath. The ring of the steel sounded like a death knell to Clarke, but there was nothing she could do. The fight had begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigedasleng:**
> 
> _Nomonjoka:_ motherfucker  
>  _Hainofa-de. Heda na frag du op:_ The Prince. The Commander will kill him.  
>  _Hei! Sef of! Chit yu bilaik?_ Hey! Move away! Who are you?  
>  _Feisbona:_ wolfsbane  
>  _Fisa:_ healer  
>  _Em pleni. Sha, Wanheda. Ai na as em op:_ Enough. Yes, Wanheda. I will ask her.  
>  _Klark kom Skaikru, Ai Haiplana:_ Clarke of the Sky People, my Queen.  
>  _Hod op:_ Wait.  
>  _Hashta soulou gonplei, bilaik won hedon en nomou: du souda won op deyon:_ Regarding single combat, there is but one rule: someone must die today.


	11. i want to be known by you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This...is a long one. TBH I probably should have split it up but I didn't want to make you guys wait any longer, and I really wanted to explore these scenes from Lexa's perspective. As you'll see, this is where I really start to diverge from canon, in the best (read: smuttiest) of ways. I hope it was worth the wait.
> 
> Beyond that, I just want to reiterate that I am still here for you. For this fic, for Clexa, for Clexakru, and for you...who've stuck with it all to this end. Let this be our new beginning. _Ste yuj, seingeda. Oso gonplei ste jos stot au._
> 
> [](http://s558.photobucket.com/user/calfaolan/media/green78%20-%20young%20gods%20cover_zpsi9hmjfrz.jpg.html)   
> 

It had only taken the span of a breath, but it felt like so much had passed between them that Lexa’s entire body was throbbing with it. The sun felt much too bright, unreasonably warm, and she had begun to sweat lightly under her armor. It almost felt like the earliest symptoms of rut, although she had well over a month until she was due. But the moment she’d seen Clarke’s face emerge from her hood, had discerned just the barest hint of her scent from the overwhelming tangle of the crowd, she had felt something like a fever brewing inside of her. With their brief exchange of words, it had erupted.

“I’m glad you came.”

“Me too.”

These seemed like the barest words, the least useful words, far too spare and sparse to express all that they meant to say to each other, but in the end Lexa couldn’t help but think that perhaps that made them the only words that would do. She had put into them her promise of fealty, her willingness to die for what she believed in: that peace was possible, and that  _ Skaikru  _ could become part of that peace; and that she would do whatever was necessary to protect her mate and her pups. And from Clarke, she heard the omega’s acceptance of that promise, of her fealty, and, ultimately, her death. In a perverse way, it helped her find peace with her death, and with what she was about to do, because it would be in the service of the one she loved, as well as the people she'd pledged her life to lead.

Clarke almost looked like she wanted to say more, but Lexa could not imagine what more there might be to say. Taking a step back, she reached for her sword and drew it from its sheath, eliciting a roar from the crowd. She swung it a couple of times, testing its familiar grip and weight in her hand, and then looked back at Clarke for what might be the final time. The Sky girl’s gaze was soft and kind, a vast blue sea of worry. Lexa wanted to tell her not to be frightened—death was not the end and they would meet again, one way or another—but then Clarke’s eyes widened with a sudden flash of fear.

The scrape of a step against the concrete floor of the arena, the soft hiss of a breath, and the battle lust that Lexa had been staving off all morning burst to life. With a low roar, she pivoted on her heel to take herself out of the path of Roan’s rush, and brought her sword around in time to deliver a stinging slash across his back. His body arched in pain, but if he made any noise, it was swallowed by the crowd’s eruption of excitement. Lexa could feel a red haze descending over her brain, but before it could engulf her utterly, she turned, searching the wall of people for Clarke. When she met the Sky girl’s gaze, the relief she could see in Clarke’s eyes felt like a stab to the gut.  _ See, Clarke?  _ she couldn't keep from thinking.  _ I  _ can  _ fight. _

And then Roan was upon her again, surging forward with a snarl and a blow that, if it connected, would likely cleave her arm from her shoulder. But Lexa was already gone. She had trained from the moment she could stand to defeat opponents that were sometimes two and three times her size. When she had reached her full growth and had shown herself to be lithe and wiry, not large or brutish, that training intensified. She would never be large or strong enough to match warriors who relied on size and strength blow for blow. Instead, she learned to move like a shadow, or a swift wind, so that they wouldn't sense her coming but felt that she was everywhere at once; she ran endless empty miles through the plains and hills and forests around Polis to build up her endurance, so that she might easily outlast bruisers whose blows fell around her harmlessly, never touching her skin. She had learned to dodge raindrops.

Lexa fell into a guard stance, eyes locked on Roan. Recognizing that he had missed his chance to take her out with one bold strike, the Prince did the same, and they began to circle one another. Lexa's initial glee at delivering her hit faded soon as she watched Roan match her step for step. It was clear that despite his previous attempt, he was no mere brawler, but a skilled and cunning warrior. He would have to be, she thought, to have brought  _ Wanheda  _ to her alive and mostly unharmed, while the entire Coalition was up in arms looking for her.

They continued to circle for a few moments, testing one another's footwork and looking for weaknesses that weren’t there. Lexa could feel impatience growing within her, her alpha's urge to lash out and strike her opponent to the ground, to prove her dominance, but she breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth, counting out a nonsensical rhythm until it was quelled. Part of her training as an alpha  _ Natblida  _ had been to tame that impulse, as it could make her reckless, leaving her vulnerable against betas and omegas who found it much more natural to wait for the perfect moment to strike. And from the way Roan looked, moving easily, barely having broken a sweat even though the sun was beating down upon them, he would have no difficulty there.

At last, his blade flicked out towards her sternum, a lazy strike that Lexa didn’t even bother parrying, just spun away from. But it hadn’t truly been intended to connect, just to get her feet moving, and Roan soon followed it up with a flurry of blows that were both swift and powerful. Lexa found herself broken out of her circle, backing up in a straight line as she worked to deflect his attacks. She knew where this would lead if she let it continue. He’d push her all the way to the arena's wall, and hem her in there with his superior size, where her agility would no longer be of any use. He was attempting to make her fight him on his terms, where he knew he would prevail: strength against strength.

_ Enough of this,  _ Lexa thought savagely, her mouth twisting into a snarl.  _ If that’s what he wants, that’s what I’ll give him.  _ But it wouldn’t be the contest of strength he expected: instead, it would be strength against surprise.

Lexa planted her back foot solidly against the arena's floor, and when the Prince's next strike came, she took the full force of the blow on the edge of her blade instead of deflecting it. Sensing his opportunity, Roan pressed his advantage, leaning his weight heavily against where their swords met. Lexa growled, but his power steadily overbore her, forcing her to take a knee. For the first time, his typically expressionless face broke into a fierce grin. “You're done,” he grunted. “It’s time for you to—”

With a snarl, Lexa reached up with her other hand, grasping her blade firmly to gain more leverage. The edge cut cruelly into her flesh, but she didn’t hesitate. Her training had taught her not to challenge her opponents in ways she couldn’t win, but it had also taught her how to beat them at their own game. She wasn’t as strong as Roan, but she didn’t need to be; she just needed to be strong  _ enough,  _ at the right time. And then there was the aspect that few people understood, but that had proven time and again, for Lexa, the most important: sacrifice.

_ Ai nou fir raun… Ai medo drein au… _

The words were blazoned into Lexa's brain, humming and resonating in her mind like they were being repeated by a chorus. All of the voices became one, and cried aloud:  _ NOW! _

Lexa lunged upward with a roar, every ounce of strength in her body dedicated to helping her rise. Taken off guard, Roan staggered back, and now it was Lexa pressing her advantage, forcing him back and back with vicious slashes that he was barely able to parry. She wasn’t directly attempting to connect, just to keep him off balance until she— _ there!  _ She saw her opportunity. A particularly hard strike of hers had knocked his blade somewhat loose in his hand. She directed her next swipe at his ungloved hand and saw it go spinning free, clattering against the arena floor.

Honor dictated that she allow her enemy to pick up his weapon, but this was no time for honor. Too much was at stake. The peace she had worked for, fought for, bled for; the peace she sought to uphold, that it might allow her, even in her position as  _ Heda,  _ to protect her mate and pups…  _ Don’t think about them,  _ she told herself, lunging forward.  _ Don’t think about them; don’t look at Clarke. Only this moment exists. _

Lexa began a series of sweeping strokes, forcing Roan to stumble back and back, away from her hissing blade, but also away from his sword. When she herself had drawn level with it, she bent to pick it up, never letting him leave her sight. The beta snarled, but there was nothing he could do. He was weaponless, and now she had twice the reach, twice the chances to slice him to ribbons. She could see him frantically scanning the arena for an escape, or for another weapon, and so she took a moment to test the sword’s weight in her hand. It was well-balanced, but heavier than her own; she shifted her own blade to her left hand, and put Roan’s into her stronger right.

A roar of outrage went up from the crowd: Roan had jogged over to one of the guards near the edge of the arena, struck him in the face, and taken his glaive. It was a large, unwieldy weapon, and for a moment Lexa let herself hope—a weapon that one did not know how to use could be nearly as bad as no weapon at all. But Roan had perfect form as he gave the bladed staff a few testing swings before settling into guard. She growled under her breath.  _ Of course it couldn’t be that simple. _

They faced off yet again, Lexa taking a few quick steps towards him with her swords raised in guard. Her alpha blood boiled within her to strike at him now, to make an end, but she forced herself to wait. His weapon meant that he had the reach on her again, and the moment needed to be perfect before she allowed herself to get in close. Luckily, however, the Prince’s composure had been shaken as well, and before long he lunged at her with a snarl, swinging the staff at her neck. She ducked the blow, which left him open for a counterstrike, but they were too close to the arena’s wall and she didn’t have a good enough angle to end the fight decisively. If she took this chance and missed her strike, Roan would have her trapped and would finish her in moments.

Twisting her body, she spun around him, and now  _ his _ back was to the wall. Her alpha rose up within her, calling for her to strike at him  _ now,  _ and she let it come forth. Driving forward with a roar, she launched herself into the air and slashed down on him with both swords, a one-two strike. He was able to bring his glaive to bear and parry just in time, but she was undeterred. Her inner alpha was searing through her blood, frenzied, its lust for battle finally being sated.

She began a dizzying whirl of spinning slashes, driving him towards the edge of the crowd. He was able to block each one, but that was fine—her enemy was giving ground before her, and soon, no one would be able to doubt her dominance. She was  _ Heda,  _ Alpha of All Packs. She would defend her title and her people and her mate to the death, and she would not stand to have her strength questioned—

Roan caught both of her swords on his blade, but turned it, and suddenly one of them was loose in her hand. Too loose. He used her own trick against her, directing his next strike at her left hand. The sword went spinning away, and she snarled in fury, but a quick glance told her that there was no way she’d make it over in time to snatch it up. A bolt of cold fear shot through the warm blanket of rage that had settled over her. In her training, she’d been taught that while her inner alpha could be a liability, it could also be a strength, provided she could control the fearlessness and savagery it lent her.  _ Oh  _ Keryon _ , how did it get this far? How could I have let this happen? _

Now she was the one stumbling back on her heels, parrying double the amount of strikes as Roan proved his skill with the glaive. It didn’t take long before he'd sent her other sword clattering to the ground. But he didn’t give her the luxury of attempting to find another weapon. Moving impressively fast for someone of his size, he lunged forward and delivered a brutal kick to the center of her chest. She was driven to the ground, the breath knocked out of her lungs, and suddenly staring at the perfectly clear blue sky, wondering how she’d gotten there.

Everything seemed to slow, to fade out around the edges, as she struggled to continue the suddenly strenuous task of pushing air in and out of her lungs. A voice in the back of her mind was screaming,  _ Get up! You have to get up,  _ now! But it was hard to remember why, when that was so difficult, and the sky was so blue…

A dark shadow eclipsed that perfect view, and shreds of panic began to creep into Lexa’s brain. But it wasn’t until the glinting point of Roan’s spear came into sight as he hefted it, then flipped it deftly in his grip so that the blade was pointing directly at Lexa’s heart, that the urgency of the situation returned to her. She attempted to roll to one side, but her limbs were heavy and sluggish, as though a great weight sat on her chest.

Roan was getting nearer, and yet he seemed farther away at the same time, as did the voice telling her she must get up. More words from the Anthem resonated in her mind:

_ Ai mana jomp in… Ai mana wan op… _

She had done what she meant to do, she thought hazily. She had fought, and now she would die. It didn't seem like the worst thing to her—she was so very tired, and it had been such a long time since she had rested. Surely it could not be the worst thing, to rest for a little while. And it was a beautiful sky to die looking at, beautifully blue, like Clarke’s eyes…

Roan hefted the glaive in his hand, preparing for the final strike, and Lexa realized that if this was truly to be her death, she wanted the last thing she saw to be her mate. Turning her head, she immediately found Clarke among the crowd. What she saw in the omega’s eyes nearly stopped her heart.

Lexa had been brought up to accept her death, either at the hands of the future Commander, or on a battlefield, at the hands of an assassin, or something similar. She had not expected to die here, in defense of her position as  _ Heda,  _ shown to be unworthy under the eyes of her people. It was ignominious, but it was not beyond the realm of what she’d considered possible. She had had her entire life to accept it, and it had been hard, but she had made peace with it.

But Clarke had no such acceptance, no such peace. It was plain from the way she stared at Lexa, her eyes wide with terror—which Lexa would have gladly put down to fear for her people or her own life, and that of her pups, if not for the tears glistening in the corners of her eyes.  _ She's afraid…for me. She’s afraid of losing  _ me.  _ Not just the safety of her people, the stability that  _ Heda  _ can provide, but…me. She cares for me. _

She couldn’t do it. She could no longer see death as a release; her watch had not ended. For the first time since Costia had been taken from her, she truly wanted to live. For the first time in a long time, her head and heart were as one. She loved  _ Klark kom Skaikru,  _ her mate, her Sky girl, with all of herself, and when she reached for the Spirit, she found that it did too.

_ Ai mana kik raun! _

The glaive descended. Lexa had just enough time to glimpse the triumph in Roan's eyes before she was rolling out of the way, twisting her body and scissoring her legs so that in one move, she had knocked him aside and put herself into a better position to get up. She rose to her feet with a roar and launched herself at him while he was still off balance, landing blows that staggered him and then attacking his hold on his weapon. She took a firm grip on the shaft, aimed a kick at his knee to destabilize him, and then pushed forward with all her strength. It hit him in the nose, snapping his head back, and she was able to see a momentary flash of surprise in his eyes before he fell, hitting the arena floor with a heavy thud.

Lexa stalked forward, a predatory snarl on her face. Roan glared up at her, beaten but unbroken, as he growled, “What are you waiting for? Finish it!”

Lexa spared a moment to regret that he had to die. He was quick, clever, brave, and ruthless—all qualities that would, in short, make him a better leader than his mother ever was. Or would have, if he'd been given a chance. It truly was a shame that he had to die, she thought, as she leveled the tip of the glaive at Roan’s throat.

_ Who is the enemy?  _ the Spirit whispered. After a moment, Lexa understood.

“ _ Jus drein, jus daun,”  _ she murmured, then reared back and heaved the glaive like a javelin. It flew straight and true, and pierced Queen Nia of  _ Azgeda  _ through the heart.

***

At first there was silence, as though the world was holding its breath to see what would happen. Then there was a lot of screaming and yelling and shouting; weapons were drawn, and it seemed that  _ Azgeda  _ wanted to fight everyone at once, but Titus shouted all of them down. The traitor Queen Nia was dead, he told them, his eyes flicking to Lexa as he echoed her words. But her son, Roan, had fought honorably, and the Commander had defended her title and brought justice for  _ Skaikru  _ all in one stroke. If they wanted to contest her  _ hedon  _ further, they could, but they would be declared enemies of the Coalition. When he asked for the Clans to show their loyalty to their  _ Heda  _ once more, eleven Ambassadors fell to their knees immediately. As the people in the crowd followed suit, the  _ Azgeda  _ soldiers and Ambassador snarled, but eventually they, too, bowed to her.

“Rise,” she called out, her voice ringing across the silent square, and they did, as one body. She knew it was important to make some speech, to say something that would impress her dominance upon them all, but all she could think about was finding Clarke among their ranks. When her eyes met the omega’s, the happiness shining in them, the faith, the  _ relief,  _ made her want to fall to her own knees. To show everyone watching that the alpha for whom all the world bowed fell to her knees for one omega.

But she knew she couldn't. She had defeated one danger, but that was just one battle. They still had the long, hard war to win her people’s minds and hearts ahead of them. And so she gave herself a moment to hold Clarke’s gaze, to show all of her protectiveness and pride and love that she dared, and then she gave Clarke a very small nod. The sight of her mate returning it made her feel like a small star was slowly rising in her chest.

That moment was for the two of them alone, but she was more than just Lexa, an alpha who had defended her pups and her mate. She was  _ Heda,  _ and she had proven her mastery over all, her dominance, her worthiness to lead. That meant she belonged to her people, and her victory was for them as well. She raised her fist, tipped back her head, and gave a long, loud howl of victory. It hung in the air, a lone, proud note, before it was joined by a chorus of a thousand voices, all of them proclaiming her prowess, her strength, as they slowly resolved into a chant:

_ Heda! Heda! Heda! _

Their voices resonated in her ears and seemed to sing in her very blood, and she let them go on for as long as she could, but she could feel weariness beginning to overtake her and knew she needed to get off the battlefield before she exposed herself to be not a conquering goddess, but merely human. And so she lowered her hand, only to hold it up flat, a call for quiet. But they did not obey, continuing their jubilance, their celebration of her strength and worthiness, their joy that they were, indeed, led by the strongest among them, Spirit-chosen. Her alpha would have had her continue and encourage this, but she knew that she needed to regain mastery of herself.

She stood frozen in the center of the arena, stunned into immobility by the overstimulation of the sunlight, the shouting, the cheering and the waving hands that she was fighting to convince her inner alpha were not challenges or threats. She might stood there, fighting with herself, until she dropped dead of exhaustion, but then she felt hands, gentle but firm, on her shoulders. She tensed, baring her teeth, but relaxed a moment later when she recognized Titus’s scent. She allowed him to guide her towards the crowd, and although their jubilation continued unabated, they parted for her like waves around a rock.

Titus walked her through the streets of Polis, thronging with people celebrating their Commander's victory, all the way back to the tower, constantly keeping a hand on her shoulder to ground her in her body and prevent her from wandering off. Her alpha's lust for blood was sated, but at this point it demanded that she find someone to fuck and while she knew she could prevent herself from doing something she'd regret, she wasn’t certain that a gleeful wellwisher would be able to resist the pull of the pheromones that she was certain were pouring off her. So she let Titus direct her steps into the tower's cool interior, into the creaking elevator, and off onto a corridor she vaguely recognized as her own quarters.

There, he released her into the care of her handmaidens—all betas, as they’d been since she first presented, which she'd largely found ridiculous but was grateful for in this moment. With soothing murmurs and cool efficiency, they stripped her out of her bloodstained armor and clothing, then guided her into a hot bath. When it became clear that she was just going to sit there staring at the purls of steam rising from the water's surface, they went to work, unbraiding her hair and soaking it in scented oils while they scrubbed her skin until it felt raw and cleansed.

Brenna—who had not been her handmaiden in a very long time, but was here now for some reason, for which Lexa was also strongly grateful—tutted for a while over the deep cut on her palm where she'd gripped her sword, before cleaning it out as gently as she could. It still stung miserably, and Lexa let out a hiss of pain that turned into a growl, which Brenna stopped cold with one firm look. She ducked her head and reached for a sponge floating by her in the tub to clean between her legs, where none of the handmaidens had so far dared to touch. The moment she did, she had to choke back a groan. Her clit hadn’t yet begun to shift, but it felt swollen and overly sensitive, and she knew it wouldn’t take much to begin the process. She scrubbed herself as quickly and as gently as possible, then heaved herself out of the tub.

“ _ Mochof gon yu sisnes, ba ai gaf ste soulou,”  _ she told them, unable to meet any of their eyes. Brenna seemed to understand, however, and she clapped briskly, shepherding the others out of Lexa's chambers. She paused in the door, however, and pointed at Lexa's hand.

“ _ Yu beda rap daun op,”  _ she said. Lexa nodded absently, already turning away, and the door closed with a quiet thud.

She found herself sitting on the bed, staring blankly ahead as the events of the day raced through her mind. This was how it happened ordinarily, after a battle. She let the images and emotions filter through her head, re-living each one over and over until it lost enough of its potency for her to file it away into some corner of her heart. The thrill she experienced as the crowd roared for her; the smell of Roan's sweat and hunger and desperation as she locked swords with him; the sting of the blade as it bit into her palm…

That brought her back, momentarily, to the present, and she looked down at her hand, perusing the ragged, angry edges of the cut. It was deep enough to present a very real concern for infection, and she knew that she needed to do something about it sooner rather than later, so she sighed and stood. On shaky legs, she crossed the room to where a bundle of clean rags sat next to a bowl of warm water, for washing her face clean after the events of an ordinary day. Dipping her hand in the water, she let it run over the cut while she watched her reflection ripple across its surface.

She withdrew her hand an indeterminate amount of time later, after the skin had begun to prune. Wiping it carefully dry, she then attempted to wrap it in one of the unused cloths, but with only one hand—and that one still shaking with tension and the unprocessed events of the day—it was a frustrating experience. When the edges of the rag once again slipped through her clumsy fingers, she caught a little growl between her teeth. Feeling vaguely ridiculous, she considered calling for someone to help her, but realized that would have made her feel even more foolish. After several more minutes of struggle, she managed it, then sat down on the bed again, trying to slow the rising heat of her blood.

But it wasn't working. As her mind continued to take her through the fight, she only found herself getting more and more worked up. She rose and began to pace, but soon enough her room seemed to shrink around her, her strides eating up the space. Passing by a small table adjacent to her couch, she lashed out with her uninjured hand, sending it tumbling to the floor with its load of unlit candles. But that wasn't enough; it felt like barely anything at all. She could feel the need rising within her to do something huge and grievous, something that would reinforce to the world—and to herself—that she was alive, that she existed, that she had a body which fought and won and wanted…

She was across the room with her hand on the doorknob before she thought to question what, exactly, it was that she wanted. The moment she asked herself, however, she knew. A burning flush crept over her body, and she felt her clit give a heavy twitch that usually heralded its extension.  _ No,  _ Lexa tried to tell herself harshly,  _ you have no right to that. You mustn't go to her, and certainly not with the expectation of… _

But trying to get her alpha to abandon an idea it had latched onto was, she knew, about as useful as beating her head against the wall. She was not going to get any rest or peace of mind until she went to see Clarke.  _ You are  _ not  _ going out like that, though,  _ she told herself firmly, looking down at her body—still nude, the heat of her alpha blood protecting her from the chill, but not from prying eyes. With another flush at what she had almost allowed to occur, she went and rummaged in her wardrobe for a long, flowing nightdress and pulled it over her head. She flushed anew when she realized that it had a slit in it that ran all the way up to her hip, but her feet were already carrying her to the door and out into the corridor.

The halls of Polis tower were surprisingly quiet, contrasting with the jubilation Lexa could hear ringing through the city. As she passed a bank of windows, she saw the that streets thronged with lights. The sounds of music and merriment floated up from below, but while the pipes and drums stirred her blood, she didn't lose sight of her goal. As she made her way to the floor below, her steps were swift and sure, even as her mind raced with a thousand problems and possibilities. She was glad she didn't meet anyone on her way—she didn't think she'd be able to project the image of the proud, victorious  _ Heda  _ that they'd be expecting. Tonight, she felt stripped down to her core, no titles or sacred duties to armor her. Clarke had long had that effect on her, she observed wryly to herself, and it was about time that she stopped fighting it.

To her relief, Clarke’s floor was just as quiet, and she passed through the halls without attracting any attention, her bare feet padding softly against the smooth stone. She saw the flicker of candlelight emanating from under the omega’s door as she approached, and breathed a silent sigh of relief. She didn't think she could stop herself from knocking on Clarke’s door, but at least she didn't need to feel guilty about waking her.

She raised and lowered her hand three times before she was able to knock on the door. There was nothing but silence for a moment, and Lexa felt a sudden spike of panic at the thought that Clarke was just ignoring her, or would refuse to see her. Then her straining ears picked the gentle slap of feet against the floor, and her panic spiked further. Clarke was going to open the door, and see her, and possibly even speak with her! She calculated frantically, but there was no way she’d be able to make it around the corner before she—

The door opened. Clarke was there, freshly scrubbed and glowing in the candlelight, and Lexa was so very, very weak. She opened her mouth to say something, probably something very stupid, but nothing came out. What were words, honestly? Who needed them—who could even  _ use  _ them—when  _ Klark kom Skaikru  _ looked like that?

“Is this ‘I told you so’?” Clarke asked, arching an eyebrow.

Lexa had to swallow a couple of times before she could answer, but when she did she was proud: her voice only shook a little. “This is ‘thank you.’”

They regarded each other for a moment, Clarke steadily, Lexa with her eyes flicking every which way—into the room, as though she expected to be invited in; into the hall, as though there were still time to escape; but always back to Clarke’s face, to drown over and over again in blue. Just when she thought she couldn’t bear it any longer—she either needed to flee or grab Clarke’s face with both hands and kiss her with all of the ferocious longing that beat in her chest—Clarke’s eyes abruptly dropped. Lexa only had time to feel her stomach plummet at the sudden submissiveness of the action, and the change in the omega’s scent, when Clarke reached out and took hold of her injured hand. It was such an assertive gesture that it made Lexa feel as though she were teetering on the edge of a cliff, and only Clarke had the power to push her to her death or pull her to safety.

The Sky girl turned Lexa’s hand over, taking stock of her amateurish efforts at bandaging the cut, before her gaze flicked back up. “Come in,” she said, offering a small smile. “Let me change that for you.”

Lexa allowed herself to be led into the room as tamely as a fat cow ready for slaughter. In truth, she would have allowed Clarke to lead her to hell and back if she’d have asked. The omega seated her on one of the large plush couches that Lexa had made certain her room was well stocked with, and after acquiring a small bundle of clean cloths, seated herself as well. The alpha was abruptly aware that Clarke had voluntarily placed herself much closer to Lexa than she had since before the Mountain, and that she could feel the warmth from Clarke’s skin and smell her scent. It was so familiar, so much like home, with just the tiniest variation—like the addition of a slight harmony to a beloved song—that reminded her of what Clarke carried.

With the perfect combination of gentleness and businesslike firmness, Clarke unwrapped the binding around her hand and replaced it with a strip of cloth she’d torn from one of her own clean rags. Before she did, however, she ran her thumb close to the jagged edges of the cut, testing very carefully for puffiness or swelling. Apparently satisfied, she began to wrap Lexa’s hand with skill and efficiency. “That girl who was with Nia, Ontari…you said she was a Nightblood,” Clarke said as she worked. “What will happen to her?”

“She won’t be back until the Conclave, after my death,” Lexa said, scarcely paying any attention to the words falling out of her mouth. She was too fixated on the way Clarke’s hands moved over her own.

Clarke glanced up from her work, eyebrow lifting and mouth quirking up in what the alpha realized, belatedly, was humor. “Do you ever talk about anything other than your death?” Before she could stop herself, Lexa had answered with her own small smile.

Then there was nothing between them, no wounds to bind or assumptions to correct. Lexa found herself staring at Clarke, utterly captivated by the way the candlelight flickered in the omega’s hair and seemed to blaze in her eyes, as though they were alight with their own flame. She snapped her gaze back down to her lap a moment later, but the damage was done: Clarke had caught her staring, and opened her mouth, presumably to say something about it.

Hastily, Lexa said, “I just wanted to thank you for backing me today.” She dared to look up once more; their gazes caught, held, and this time Clarke’s dropped first.

She pretended to fuss with the bandage again as she said, “I was just doing what was right for my people.”

Lexa felt her heart plummet like a stone into the pit of her stomach.  _ Her people. Of course. I should have known. I should never have assumed…  _ Her traitorous brain attempted to remind her of the heat of Clarke’s outburst in her throne room, when she had snarled, “This is  _ not  _ just about my people!” But nothing in her words had suggested that it might have been about Lexa, about what she had felt or might still feel for the alpha, for her former mate… Of course,  _ former  _ was a lie, one that Lexa continued to tell herself, when the truth was that Clarke would always be her mate. Her alpha, and her heart, could never let her go, even though her head demanded it.

But it was best not to linger on what she could never have. Titus was right, she knew—to be the Commander was to be alone. There would always be some situation, some terrible choice that she would have to make that could part her from Clarke, as long as she remained  _ Heda.  _ While her heart could never give Clarke up, she needed to recognize that the Sky girl was not hers. All she could hope to do was protect Clarke and their pups, and keep them safe from the storm that she knew was brewing.

And then it happened. The thing that she’d spent the last few hours, days even, telling herself would never happen again. It was a fluke the first time, a beautiful mistake throughout its short lifespan, and the last flickering embers of a dying flame when Clarke had kissed her that night in the war room. That night, Clarke had fled from Lexa just as soon as the alpha had managed to convince herself that it was truly happening, just in time to break her heart.

Now, though…now Clarke was reaching forward, taking Lexa’s face in her hands and drawing in close and kissing her as though she was drowning and Lexa was air. The alpha instincts she’d only just managed to successfully suppress came roaring back in full force, and suddenly her hands were on Clarke’s hips, pulling her roughly onto Lexa’s lap. The omega gasped into the kiss, and Lexa hungrily drank in the sound, the sudden flare of Clarke’s arousal that stung in her nose like a spark.

The twitching shaft of her clit swelled with blood, thickening and expanding, pressing up against the heat that she could feel emanating from Clarke even through the layers of their clothing. As soon as the omega felt it, she rolled her hips down against Lexa’s, making her choke off a whine. “Lexa,” she gasped into their kiss, and the Commander’s blood raced like fire through her veins. Taking a firmer grip on Clarke’s hips, Lexa coaxed her into a steady grind that had her embarrassingly hard within seconds. But she wasn’t the only one who was being driven to faster and faster to the heights of pleasure; Clarke moaned and writhed in her embrace, hands fisting into her hair and tugging her impossibly closer.

As need raced along her cock, making the shaft pound, Lexa was conscious that this experience might end in a way that was embarrassing for both of them. But she was too far gone to care. Clarke was here, kissing her as though the world was ending. Everything could burn to ashes around them and she would still be here, kissing Lexa. But apparently, kissing was no longer enough. Without Lexa’s realizing it, one of Clarke’s hands had untangled itself from her hair and taken hold of Lexa’s uninjured one. Clarke leaned up—not enough to break the kiss, but enough to make Lexa whine at the loss of her delicious heat and pressure—and guided her hand in between their bodies, into the part of her nightgown.

Lexa’s fingers were instantly immersed in the searing heat of Clarke’s folds. The sensation was breathtaking, literally—her chest tightened and her heart raced as she reacquainted herself with the shape and warmth and slickness. She pulled away from the kiss momentarily, wanting to stare into Clarke’s eyes, to make sure that this was really happening and wasn’t one of the many dreams she’d been tormented with over the last few months, but the blue fire she saw blazing back at her told her that this was the truth. The one and only truth that Lexa would ever accept without question: Clarke was here. Clarke wanted her. Clarke was  _ home. _

Sensing Lexa’s hesitation, Clarke’s hand lingered on her wrist for a few moments, as though to make certain Lexa knew that she was more than wanted—she was welcome. Blinking to clear her suddenly watery eyes, Lexa dragged her fingers along the length of Clarke’s slit, eliciting a long, drawn-out moan. Warmth seared through her entire body, making her cock jump, but she suppressed her own need, focusing even harder on meeting Clarke’s. She circled the omega’s clit for a few minutes, gentle, slow strokes that made Clarke writhe and pant and glare down at her, but held her captive, unable to resist. Lexa didn’t mean to torture her, not truly, but the twitching bud was just so tempting in its stiff slickness.

When Clarke’s hips began to rock insistently, she moved her hand lower down, gliding through a tide of warmth and wetness to rest at the omega’s entrance. Through some superhuman effort, she managed to make herself pause, knowing what awaited her the moment she pressed inside, but also unwilling to believe that this could be hers, given freely, without some consequence. And so she made herself stop, and look up at Clarke, and ask with her eyes the question for which words were insufficient.

But Clarke knew—she always knew. She gave Lexa a very firm nod that managed to convey  _ Hurry the fuck up, idiot,  _ even though her mouth was occupied with gasping. But Lexa wasn’t of a mind to refuse her anything, so she slid two fingers effortlessly into the omega’s warmth. Clarke blossomed open to accept her instantly, letting out a beautiful moan and arching her back. Somehow, Lexa found the presence of mind to pull aside the low-cut top of Clarke’s dress, exposing the stiff, straining point of a nipple. She latched onto it instantly, swirling her tongue around it and nipping and sucking, even as she curled her fingers to find the swollen, throbbing spot on Clarke’s front wall that she knew so well.

She knew the moment she’d found it: Clarke’s entire body gave a jolt, and she threw back her head and shouted to the ceiling, spasming around Lexa’s fingers. The alpha’s blood roared within her again, urging her to take and fuck and claim, and Lexa obeyed, thrusting powerfully up and into Clarke with strokes angled perfectly to pound against that spot. It was a kind of blissful surrender to give in to her desire at last, to accede to the instincts that told her that Clarke was hers, and all she needed to do was take her.

Still, there was a part of Lexa that couldn’t quite believe this was happening. She sank her fingers over and over into Clarke’s clinging heat, first two and then, when the omega’s moans grew more demanding, she added a third, and reveled in the satisfied scream that the stretch elicited. She managed to coax Clarke’s insistently rocking hips into some kind of rhythm, and soon had her omega rising and falling to meet each of her thrusts. She even paused for a moment to revel in the sight of Clarke fucking herself on her fingers, but the Sky girl snarled at her, looking down with burning eyes, and she began pumping into Clarke with renewed vigor, not daring to deny her any further.

And yet for all of this, there was still a part of her that could not believe this was truly happening—until one of Clarke’s hands left her shoulders where it had been braced, assisting her in sliding up and down on Lexa’s fingers. She shuddered as Clarke traced a burning trail down her arm, along her side, and past her hip…and then she was touching the bare skin of Lexa’s thigh, exposed where the slit of her dress had fallen open, and Lexa was struggling not to snarl into her Sky girl’s hungry mouth because she could taste the smug grin on Clarke’s lips.

She caressed the long line of Lexa’s thigh for a moment, before moving inward, traveling in a straight but maddeningly slow line for where the alpha’s cock throbbed and ached for her touch. Lexa’s brain had gone blank, the only thing left in her a mechanistic urge to continue thrusting up into Clarke, hitting that spot inside of her over and over again that made her let out those delicious little groans. Everything else was taken up with the sensation of the omega’s hand creeping closer and closer to her cock.

And then those terrible, wonderfully torturous fingers had closed around her shaft. Lexa felt herself pulse heavily and had to close her eyes, gritting her teeth against releasing straight away and embarrassing herself more than she had already. She unconsciously settled into one of the breathing patterns she'd been taught during her training, to help her maintain control, but at the first stroke of Clarke’s palm along her heated flesh, it was no longer any help. She gasped as the omega’s hand pumped all the way to the base of her cock, then back up, her thumb flicking over the sensitive underside of the head and teasing the slit.

Lexa was lost. She tipped her head back, groaning long and loud as her eyes rolled back in her head. Sensing victory, Clarke began to stroke her faster and harder, rolling her hips down onto Lexa’s hand in time. While the Sky girl had started first, Lexa was catching up embarrassingly fast, her cock throbbing and dripping in Clarke’s fist. But she could not come before Clarke; her pride would not allow it. So she clenched her jaw and pushed her own pleasure aside, doubling her efforts as she thrust up into the omega’s hot, dripping sex.

Taking a firmer grip on Clarke’s hip with her free hand, she was able to adjust her angle so that she could press her thumb against the omega’s clit. She didn't have much dexterity in this position, but Clarke didn't seem to mind, if the sudden cry she let out was any indication, as well as the burst of wetness that accompanied it. To Lexa’s simultaneous fury and arousal, the look the Sky girl gave her was one of defiance as she reached up and pulled down the low neckline of her dress to expose a straining nipple. She took hold of the back of Lexa’s head to draw her forward, but it wasn't necessary—Lexa was already leaning in eagerly to take the stiff bud between her lips.

Lexa began swirling her tongue around Clarke’s nipple with abandon, punctuating her sucking with fluttering and nips. Clarke was soon gasping and shaking above her, letting out the beautiful whimpers and moans that told Lexa she was close to release. She didn't have long to savor her triumph, however. The pressure pounding along her shaft was building to an awful fullness, and she knew that she wasn't going to last. All she could do was make certain that when she fell over the edge, she took Clarke with her.

With a sudden burst of effort, she lifted Clarke high enough to slip a fourth finger inside her slick channel. It only took a couple more thrusts with the extra fullness and Clarke was screaming, shaking and spasming above her, inner walls clamping down around Lexa’s hand while pulses of wetness poured out around her wrist. Lexa continued curling her fingers against the full spot against Clarke’s front wall as long as she could, but soon she could do nothing more than hold herself steady as the omega’s hips bucked wildly atop hers. Her own orgasm had taken her entirely by surprise, but now she was spilling herself across Clarke’s hand.

Lexa released Clarke’s breast to let out a full-throated groan, watching as burst after burst of her come erupted across the omega’s wrist and striped her thighs where her dress had ridden up around them. The sight of her release glistening on Clarke’s skin, as well as her own fingers still working among the Sky girl’s soaked folds, made her cock throb with fresh arousal even as she emptied herself. It had been incredible to feel Clarke coming around her, and the fact that it was Clarke who had brought her release was nearly impossible to believe, but her alpha was still ravenous for more. She had to squeeze her eyes shut against the memory of the way Clarke felt around her cock, her cunt gripping the shaft tightly as Lexa thrust hard and deep…

Her resurgent need did not escape the omega’s notice. Clarke gasped as Lexa’s shaft twitched in her hand, and the alpha looked up to see her staring at her with wide eyes, pupils blown. Growling, she withdrew her hand from where it had been coaxing the Sky girl through her final pulses and took a firm hold of her hips, positioning Clarke just over the head of her cock, which was dripping with renewed arousal. She began to pull down, her lips curling into a snarl as she prepared to sink into silky warmth—

“Lexa,” Clarke gasped out, and a low growl escaped the alpha’s chest. Her pheromones swelled, urging Clarke to submit, to open herself for Lexa and allow her mate to claim and fill her, and she gave another tug on the Sky girl’s hips. But Clarke’s next word, stuttered out through shaking lips, made her stop dead.

“Wait…”

Lexa froze, squeezing her eyes shut as she fought with all she had against the instincts that screamed for her to take her omega, her mate. But through the maelstrom that her mind had become, she managed to make herself remember:  _ Clarke is not yours. Clarke is Clarke’s. If she is rejecting you…if this was a mistake…  _ Her heart ached to imagine it, that she might have come so close to the bliss of knowing she was forgiven and cared for again, only to be so cruelly mistaken. But it was, ultimately, not her choice to make. Drawing in great draughts of air in an attempt to calm herself, she caught the edge of fear and sadness in Clarke’s scent, and it pained her, but also made her task easier. Slowly, her entire body shaking with the effort, she forced her hands away from Clarke’s hips into fists at her sides.

For a long moment they just remained where they were, breathing in each other’s scent and attempting to process what it told them. For all her physical stillness, Lexa’s mind was awhirl with regret and self-hatred: how could she have been so stupid as to imagine that Clarke had actually wanted this, with her, had forgiven her for abandoning her and their pups? But then she felt a hand tentatively stroking the curve of her cheek, and her eyes snapped open to meet Clarke’s.

They were wide and wet and oh so blue, and Lexa could see sadness overtaking the remnants of fear. She opened her mouth to stammer out a rushed, inadequate apology, but when Clarke’s face burst into a watery smile. “It’s fine, Lexa,” Clarke said, her voice shaking just a bit, and Lexa shook her head.

“How can it be fine? I…you…”

“I wasn't ready,” the omega said, gesturing between their bodies. “Not for… It was so much, so soon, and I was just so happy you were alive, and—”

Clarke interrupted herself by dipping her head to kiss Lexa messily, her tears falling on the alpha’s cheeks. Lexa barely managed to return it, feeling like she'd become a being of pure confusion. But happiness was beginning to shine through, like the sun rising in her chest. She scarcely dared to hope she understood what Clarke was saying, but she was so very tired of fighting it off.

When the Sky girl pulled back to look at her again, she was more serious, but her fingers traced the line of Lexa’s cheekbone tenderly. “I wanted this,” she said, raising her eyebrows, her voice stronger this time. “I did. I do. But I'm just not ready for more. Do you understand?” Lexa just looked at her like a dumb animal, still having difficulty parsing anything beyond  _ I wanted this.  _ Clarke’s thumb rubbed at the corner of her eye, brushing away a tear that might have belonged to either of them. “Not yet,” she said, and all of a sudden Lexa  _ did  _ understand. It was the same thing she'd told her when they'd first kissed, the same thing she'd said when they'd first discussed mating, and the prospect of pairbonding had seemed to hum in every breath. Each time Lexa had bowed under it, accepted it, never asked for more…and that  _ not yet  _ had, in time, turned to  _ I’m ready  _ and  _ now. _

“Yes,” she breathed, struggling to keep herself from bursting into a brilliant, idiotic grin. “I do. I…will wait for you, Clarke. No matter how long it takes.”

Clarke’s smile was wide and genuine this time. “Thank you,” she said gently, continuing to trace the lines of Lexa’s face. When Clarke’s palm cupped her cheek, Lexa allowed herself a moment of weakness, leaning into the touch and closing her eyes as she took a deep, shuddering breath. When she opened them again, Clarke’s guard was back up, her blue eyes darker, wary. Lexa’s heart sank…but then the omega offered her a tired smile. “You should probably get some sleep,” she said, clambering off of Lexa’s lap. Lexa nodded and stood stiffly, abruptly grateful that her cock had softened and mostly shifted back.

“Goodnight, Ambassador,” she said, pausing at the door and turning to give her a shy, hopeful smile. Clarke’s answer made her heart swell in her chest.

“ _ Reshop, Heda,”  _ she murmured, and Lexa slipped out of the room, feeling as though she was walking on air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigedasleng:**
> 
> _Ai nou fir raun… Ai medo drein au…:_ I am fearless... My body bleeds...  
>  _Ai mana jomp in… Ai mana wan op…:_ I mean to fight... I mean to die...  
>  _Ai mana kik raun:_ I mean to live!  
>  _Mochof gon yu sisnes, ba ai gaf ste soulou:_ Thank you for your help, but I want to be alone.  
>  _Yu beda rap daun op:_ You should bandage that.  
>  _Reshop, Heda:_ Goodnight, Commander.


	12. though far away (we're still the same)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Hope you enjoy this chapter. It's a two-parter, because a lot of important stuff is going on, and we're going to be seeing it all through Clarke's eyes. Thank you all so much for your patience, and as always, let me know what you thought in the comments and on tumblr @n1ghtwr1ter (yes, I do indeed have a new URL!).
> 
> [](http://s558.photobucket.com/user/calfaolan/media/green78%20-%20young%20gods%20cover_zpsi9hmjfrz.jpg.html)  
> 

As it did most mornings, the sun woke Clarke by blaring into her face through the thin, gauzy drapes on her window, because she had forgotten to close the heavier curtains. Unlike most mornings, however, she woke on this one with a smile on her face. It felt stiff, strange, even unfamiliar, and she caught herself reaching up to touch her own lips, as though to see whether it was really there. Most days she woke up sweaty, tangled in her sheets, having battled her own demons throughout the night. There was little happiness in waking, just a kind of grim relief. But today…

She couldn’t help it. Her grin widened when she remembered what had happened last night between Lexa and herself. The alpha had been all shyness and hesitation despite how strongly she’d smelled of dominance and power, heady enough to make Clarke’s vision swim even though she’d also clearly had a bath after the fight. And the fight itself…despite the fact that she’d been in constant terror for Lexa’s life, and had been convinced more than once that she was about to see her mate die before her eyes, she had also been unbelievably turned on.

Watching Lexa prove her dominance and strength so publicly and so completely had made pride swell in her chest, but also made her sex feel engorged and needy. She’d been pressing her thighs together since the moment Lexa had first crossed swords with Roan, and by the time she roared out her proclamation of victory, she’d had to bite her lip to keep from moaning. And so to have her alpha come to her that night, smelling so clearly of her proven strength, she had felt like a powder keg, and Lexa was the spark.

Given that she’d been fighting off her attraction to Lexa since the moment she’d arrived in Polis, it was a wonder that she’d had the wherewithal to call a halt to what they were doing before it escalated any further. But it was even more incredible that Lexa had listened. It went against everything she’d ever learned about alphas, both in sex ed and from her mother and from life. Alphas after a dominance battle were incredibly dangerous, their control over their instincts and emotions tenuous, and it was best to steer clear of them if possible. If not, the best course of action was to offer submission until you could get away – with their blood up, they were liable to react violently if denied what they wanted.

And yet when Clarke had felt the sudden surge of doubt and guilt and fear well up in her chest, had frozen atop Lexa even as she’d been about to sink down gratefully onto the Commander’s cock, had choked out “Lexa…wait…” she had stopped. Every muscle in her body had been visibly tense with the effort of controlling her urge to simply _take_ Clarke, but somehow she had resisted. But Lexa had never been a typical alpha, Clarke thought with some fondness. It had been clear from the moment they’d met…

She was so lost in her recollections that the knock on her door made her jump. Hurrying to put on her robe, she hastened to the door, knowing it wasn’t Lexa – her touch was much lighter, and she usually knocked three times – but hoping anyway. _When did I go from hating the sight of her to actually_ wanting _her here?_ she wondered, but there wasn’t time to ponder. She pulled the door open to reveal one of her guards, a humongous bearded beta named Magnus.

 _“Os sonop, Wanheda,”_ he rumbled, his tone shy despite the deep bass of his voice. Clarke blinked – ordinarily he greeted her cheerfully, even bantered with her a bit, seeming much less in awe of the power of _Wanheda_ than most of the people in Polis tower – except for Brenna, who was far too busy to care a whit.

“ _Os sonop. Eting ste ogud?”_ she said, concern stirring in her gut – what if something had happened? She knew that an _Azgeda_ retaliation was likely – had they struck in the night? Oh god, what if Lexa was hurt, or –

“ _Sha, Wanheda,”_ he said, and she curtailed a sigh of relief. “The Commander just sent me to bring you word that there is a parting breakfast for the _Azgeda_ delegation and thought you might like to attend.” Clarke snorted, preparing to say something about how that sounded almost as nice as getting stabbed in the head, when Magnus continued, “You should also probably be there if you would like to eat this morning before your journey to Arkadia. _Heda_ intends to present the body of the Ice Queen to your people as proof that she has honored her vow.”

Clarke flushed, his words causing her to remember another vow entirely – the sight of the great alpha sinking to her knees before Clarke, love and loyalty and desperate hope brimming in her eyes, as she swore her fealty… Clarke shook herself briskly. Magnus was still watching her curiously, awaiting an answer. “Please tell the Commander that I’ll be there,” she said, attempting a disarming smile in the hopes of warding away any questions. “After I get cleaned up a bit.”

She gestured at herself unthinkingly, and watched Magnus’s eyes widen as they traveled down her body. A blush spread across her cheeks as she imagined what he must be seeing – her sleep- and sex-tousled hair, her hastily pulled-on robe, and she was 99.9 percent sure that Lexa left some truly stellar hickeys – the alpha had always had a tendency to get mouthy when on the brink of losing control. _And she certainly was last night…_ Clarke felt her blush deepen and hastily closed the door on those thoughts, but she also couldn't help thinking that she must smell overwhelmingly of Lexa. _With the amount of pheromones she was putting out last night, I bet you'd think it was her if you didn't see me coming around a corner._ Yes, she _definitely_ needed a bath.

An answering tinge of red was starting to crawl up Magnus’s neck, and Clarke cringed inwardly – of course this must be awkward for him, to be standing so near to an omega who smelled so strongly of his Commander. “Well, I'd better start getting dressed,” she said briskly, and he seemed to snap out of his trance, bowing gratefully and scurrying off down the hall – as much as a man the size of a bear could _scurry_.

Shaking her head at herself, Clarke retreated into her bathroom to see how much of Lexa’s scent she could scrub off of herself in a short span of time. While she knew it was necessary – no one other than her mother knew that they were mated, and for their own safety and their pups’ they intended to keep it that way – a part of her couldn't help regretting it. _Someday,_ she thought as she worked to clean the alpha from her skin. _Someday I can walk through these halls wearing her scent proudly and holding my head high, as her mate…_ But with things in such a state of flux, with the still-looming threat of the Ice Nation and the tension she'd seen in her mother’s and Kane’s eyes, speaking volumes about the conditions at Arkadia, she couldn't imagine that _someday_ coming anytime soon.

After a moment, Clarke shook herself and then climbed out of the tub. Allowing herself a single quiet shriek when her feet touched the cold tiles of the bathroom, she hurried out into her bedroom, eager to sink her toes into the thick fur rugs scattered liberally around the floor. Toweling herself off briskly, she padded over to her wardrobe, knowing that all eyes would be on her when she returned to Arkadia. She knew that how she dressed would make a large difference in the way her people saw her. If she rode through their gates with braided hair and in full Grounder attire, it would add greatly to the impression that Bellamy already espoused: _You’re no longer one of us. You chose them._

But when she shuffled through the drawers of pants and shirts and dresses that Lexa had given her – all of them remarkably well-fitting, despite her never having had her measurements taken – to find the clothes she had worn when she arrived at Polis, her heart sank. They had been so ragged and filthy that Brenna, Lexa’s _towakepa,_ had wanted to throw them away, but Clarke had refused, and Lexa had managed to convince Brenna to clean them as best she could and then return them to her. But while they were technically clean, they were in a sorry state: her pants were stained and torn, and had so many holes that they’d likely show more skin than they concealed. Her shirt was worse – it was literally falling apart. When a ribbon of fabric came off in her hand, she sighed and removed both garments to her wastebin.

The only thing she had left from home, then, was her jacket. It was hanging in her closet, and she’d been too afraid to look at it when it was returned there from its cleaning, but to her surprise, it was in surprisingly good condition. A little weatherbeaten and ragged at the edges, but still warm and dry, and it fit her like a second skin when she slipped it on over her least conspicuously _Grounder_ clothes. Whoever had attempted to patch it up and done so with obvious skill, she noted, her heart stinging a little. While she knew it was unlikely that the Commander did her own needlework, the fact that this much care had been put into restoring Clarke’s few personal belongings smacked entirely of Lexa.

But here she was getting sentimental again, she thought, shaking herself once more. If she wanted to feel anything like human this morning, she needed to make it to the dining hall before Lexa’s warriors drank all the coffee and ate all the bacon. Shoving a few sets of clothes into a leather knapsack, she cinched it closed and slung it over her shoulders. Making her way to the door, she paused, hand on the knob, chewing her lip. After a moment’s consideration, she returned, crossing the room to the large oak chest at the foot of her bed. Removing a stack of neatly-folded woolen blankets, she pulled out her gun and belt and, after checking the safety and racking the slide, buckled it around her waist. There were only two rounds left in the magazine, but it only took one. She'd not felt the need to wear her pistol around Polis, once it had been returned to her, but they weren't going to be in Polis for long. It made her feel fairly shitty that she felt the need to bring her gun to _go home,_ but she couldn't shake the worry that she wouldn't quite be welcome there anymore.

She arrived to find the dining hall bustling with people and buzzing with noise, servants working to provision two separate expeditions, and warriors and dignitaries jostling elbows at the long trestle tables as they fueled up for the long march. Although there were a few outliers, from what Clarke could see of their clothing, most of the people here were fairly evenly divided between _Trikru_ and _Azgeda. I guess that makes sense,_ Clarke thought as she ducked and weaved through the packed hall, filling up her plate from the banquet tables laden with food. _They have a new king to crown, after all._

After snagging the last of the bacon right out from under the nose of Yaro, the hulking watch captain, Clarke wended her way over to the tables, scanning for a place to sit. Somewhere quiet and preferably out of the way, she thought at first when a shadowed spot in a corner caught her eye. But on her way over there, she noticed an extremely interesting tableau, and couldn’t resist making her way over to have a look and a laugh.

Roan was being bombarded by half a dozen of his councilors and generals, all of them shouting advice and questions and suggestions at him. Although Clarke would never have before said that the Prince was _small,_ surrounded as he was by people who were competing to see who could shout at him the loudest, she might have to revise her opinion. She grinned as she watched the beta hunch his shoulders more and more as he tried to eat his food, his expression growing darker with each shouted word. When his eyes met Clarke’s through the press of bodies, they widened in desperation.

“ _Wanheda!”_ Roan shouted over the tumult, loud enough to make half of the dining hall stop to take notice of her – but only for a second, before going right back to shouting at each other or trying to or vying for their new ruler’s attention. The heir apparent was much more interesting than the Commander of Death, after all, Clarke realized with a smirk. But Roan’s gaze had gone from desperate to pleading, and after a moment the omega decided to take pity on him.

“ _Haihefa Roan kom Azgeda,”_ she drawled in just as loud and grandiose of a voice, sauntering forward. She was fairly certain that he rolled his eyes as he stood to receive her, but when the entire party turned towards her, his was the only expression that wasn’t sour or outright hostile.

“To what do I owe the honor?” Roan said, his tone only mildly sardonic.

Clarke curtailed a snort. _He must_ really _be desperate._ “Well, I wanted to get a good look at the Prince of Azgeda for the last time,” she said. “And also there weren’t any good seats left.”

Now Roan really _did_ roll his eyes, but then one of his advisors, a small, beady-eyed beta with a pinched face, piped up, “Prince Roan, you must remember that a prince may bow, but a king rises for no one.”

Roan whirled on him, growling, “A king may not rise for anyone, Yanok, but every man bows to death.” And to Clarke’s surprise, the future King of the Ice Nation inclined his head in a bow to her. As he straightened, his eyes shone with inner laughter, though the rest of his face was grave. Clarke couldn't be quite certain whether or not his mirth was directed at her, or at the expressions of shock and poorly concealed fury on his councilors’ faces as they scrambled to bow to her as well. _Probably a bit of both,_ she decided as she watched the spectacle, chewing on the inside of her lip to keep from bursting into giggles.

As soon as all of them had finished, Roan seized the opportunity to bark, “All of you, get out. I don't want to see a single one of your simpering faces until we’re back in _Azgeda_ territory.” When they all just stood there staring it him, he shouted, “ _Go!”_ The advisors immediately began scrambling for the door, and Clarke finally allowed her smirk to widen.

“It's good to be king, huh?” she said, taking a seat at his table. Roan snorted, seating himself as well and shoving a piece of bread into his mouth.

“My time in exile is beginning to seem like a very extended vacation. I believe I may just have to challenge Lexa again for making me King. I will either get my revenge for this punishment or I'll be killed, and will mercifully escape it.”

This time Clarke really did laugh, although it died swiftly in her throat as she remembered the previous day’s events, and how close she'd come to seeing Lexa’s life end on the tip of Roan’s blade. “Is that something she's going to have to worry about?” Clarke said, fixing her eyes on the beta’s meaningfully. He gazed back at her placidly.

“I assume you mean my loyalties.”

Clarke nodded shortly. “Lexa did kill your mother.”

Roan leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “And made me king in doing so. I also owe her my life, for sparing it. So I am bound to her in two ways already – not counting the oath I’ll swear to her when I return here, after my coronation.” The prince shrugged. “I'll have to put up a token show of defiance, of course, to appease the warlords who followed my mother because she promised them blood and glory – but the rest of my people should fall in line easily enough.” All at once Roan’s easy expression became cool and calculating, and his voice dropped in both volume and pitch. “As you can see, my loyalties are not in question, _Wanheda,”_ he said, with a subtle emphasis on the title. “I wonder where yours lie, however?”

Clarke was abruptly reminded of the fact that Roan knew she was pregnant, and the beta was shrewd enough that she had no doubts that he'd figured out the identity of the sire. She wasn't quite sure what he was playing at, but she _did_ know that she wasn't in the mood. “My loyalty is to my people,” she said, with just the barest hint of a growl in her tone. “As long as the Commander keeps her word and protects our interests, we won't have a problem.”

The words were default, the same ones she'd repeated time and time again – always _for my people._ But as soon as they were out of her mouth, she found herself forced to question them. Was that still true? If her people’s interests failed to align with Lexa’s decisions at some crucial juncture, would she be able to set aside the fact that the Commander was her mate and the sire of her pups? Two weeks ago she would have confidently said no…but two weeks ago she'd been out in the wild, nothing on her mind but survival and grief and self-hatred and rage at the world, and the alpha, who had made her what she was. Now, in Polis, with the memory of Lexa sinking to her knees and vowing her fealty to Clarke with nothing but trust and love in her eyes, and then fighting and nearly dying to uphold that vow, she found her conviction wavering. Her people were in Arkadia, but if she found herself forced to part from Lexa, she would be leaving her heart behind.

Sharp as always, Roan seemed to glean some of her internal struggle, gazing at her knowingly. Clarke glared at him, daring him to comment, but he just chuckled quietly and leaned his elbows on the table. She was conscious of a sudden relaxing of pressure, and had to hold in a sigh. “So, today you return home after your three-month sojourn,” Roan said, his voice again hinting at some inner amusement.

“And you return home after your three-year exile,” Clarke said, sitting back in her chair. She found, surprisingly, that she was actually sad to see him go. His habit of treating life like a private joke could occasionally be grating, but on occasion he would catch her eye and invite her to laugh with him. She found his sly sense of humor refreshing in the face of the pomp and ceremony of Polis politics. She had even enjoyed laughing at Lexa with him on occasion. “ _Gluck,”_ she said, and meant it.

“I’ll need it,” Roan admitted, but before he could go on, one of the door guards pounded the floor with the butt of her spear and shouted, “ _Heda na kom op!”_

Everyone in the hall scrambled to their feet as the doors groaned open to reveal Lexa, dressed in traveling gear and looking tired but exhilarated. She was talking at Titus a mile a minute, and dismissed them all with an impatient wave of her hand. Clarke smirked at Roan before taking her seat again, but he did not follow suit. “I had best be leaving before the Commander's expedition, unless we want a traffic jam at the gate,” he told her. “ _Mebi oso hit choda op nodotaim, Wanheda.”_

Clarke blinked to hear the _Skaikru_ phrase in Trigedasleng, but quickly stood and offered her arm. “ _Mebi oso hit choda op nodotaim, Haihefa kom Azgeda,”_ she said, gripping his forearm when he took hers. Then he turned away, calling out his farewells to Lexa where she sat at her high table, shoveling food in as fast as she could while still dictating orders to the attendants and staff clustered around her. The alpha glanced up from the list in her hand, blinking owlishly as she searched for the source of the voice, then swallowed down a truly massive bite of food before replying. Clarke couldn’t help snickering quietly under her breath at the Commander's distracted air, but her smirk fell away as soon as Lexa's eyes met hers. She found herself instantly transported to last night, to Lexa’s hands hard and desperate on Clarke’s hips, her mouth hot and needy against Clarke’s own… But then again, her own had been just as desperate, just as needy, and when they'd slid beneath Lexa’s gown to take hold of her firm, dripping shaft…

Clarke jumped, blushing as she abruptly remembered that she was in a crowded dining hall, not back in her bedroom with her mate. _What is_ wrong _with you?_ she asked herself brutally. _You're acting like you're in heat or something. Get a grip._ As though to prove to herself that she could handle her instincts around Lexa, she gave the Commander a slight smile and a little wave. She then had to fight off a fit of giggles, because Lexa immediately turned red and began speaking even more animatedly to the member of the guard she was addressing. She looked like she was trying very hard to keep her focus on the task at hand, but she couldn't seem to avoid darting little glances at Clarke, as though making sure the omega was still there.

When she'd finally finished with the watch captain she was addressing, Clarke expected Lexa to beckon her up to the high table and take the rest of her meal there. But to her surprise, and Titus’s clear outrage, the alpha skipped down from her seat and made her way over the Clarke, the crowd parting before her like fish before a shark. As she neared, Clarke supposed she should rise; much as she enjoyed annoying Titus, today didn’t quite seem like the time. And so she stood, inclining her head to Lexa, although she kept one eye on the Commander’s approach. Lexa seemed astonished by her display of subservience and gestured swiftly for Clarke to raise her head.

 “ _Os sonop, Bandrona kom Skaikru,”_ the Commander said quietly.

“ _Os sonop, Heda.”_ Although Clarke noticed just a bit of shyness to her scent, further confirmed by the slight hint of color across her high cheekbones. Heart squeezing uncomfortably, she found her lips curling up in a small but genuine smile for the second time that day. The brilliance with which Lexa returned it stung her eyes, as though the sun had risen indoors.

“Do you have everything you need for our journey?” Lexa asked. Her tone wasn't solicitous – just _Heda’s_ concern for any one of her subjects – but Clarke could read the care in it anyway.

Clarke nodded. “I do. When do we leave?”

“Now,” Lexa said, nodding. Clarke blinked at the abruptness of it, but that had always been Lexa: not one to stand on ceremony, if one was required.

Clarke reached down to where her knapsack sat, preparing to sling it over her shoulder, but Lexa’s gentle hand on her arm stopped her. “I was hoping that…you might ride with me today,” the alpha said, again with that hint of shyness that never failed to melt Clarke’s heart. “If you want to, that is. There are some things I would like to discuss with you before we reach Arkadia.”

“I’d love to,” Clarke said, swallowing hard when she realized it was true. They would certainly discuss matters of state on the journey, and it was highly unlikely that they would go anywhere near the subject of what had happened between them last night, and what it meant for them as people, as a mated pair – but that was all right. There would be time for that in the days to come. There would be time for _them,_ in the days to come. _Someday_ no longer seemed so far off.

***

They rode through the early-morning streets of Polis, accompanied by a full compliment of guards, and by a large, creaky wagon, in which the body of Queen Nia lay in state, bedecked by white flowers – even in death, even with her treachery out in the open for everyone to see, Lexa would not allow her remains to be disrespected. There was no pomp and little circumstance to their leave-taking, and Clarke understood that Lexa wanted it this way – her duty as _Heda_ was to protect the everyday lives of her citizens, not to disrupt them so that she could feel good about herself – and yet everyone that they saw on their way to the city gates managed to acknowledge Lexa’s passing in some way. The woman sweeping her stoop took a moment to touch her forehead and murmur _Heda;_ the men rolling casks of beer to the local inn waved and shouted, “ _Os soujon!”_ Small groups of children rushed up to the head of the caravan to touch Lexa’s boot, or the mane of her horse, and then ran away giggling to whatever games they had planned.

Clarke was touched by the small ways the people of Polis showed their love for their Commander, for the peace that she had given them. And although Lexa kept her head high and returned each gesture only briefly, it was clear that she was touched as well. Although it created a tight lump in her throat, Clarke found Lexa’s decision at the Mountain easier to understand than ever. The thought of a missile turning this loud, bustling, _peaceful_ city to ashes and smoking ruin hurt her heart as well. It did not change the fact that Lexa had given up Clarke’s people, and Clarke herself, in order to protect it, but she knew that if Arkadia had been in the crosshairs, she would have done the same.

But the thought of how she would be greeted by her own people still weighed heavily on her mind as they rode out through the humongous wooden gates, passing through the arch and out into the open country. Clarke couldn't help the tension coiling in her belly at the thought of returning to her friends, the people she'd sacrificed so much for, the people she'd abandoned… In her head she could hear Bellamy’s disgusted voice: “You _left_ , Clarke.” It had been an accusation, venomous and hurtful, but it had struck directly at the heart of the guilt she'd been avoiding ever since she walked off into the wilderness with nothing but a gun in her hand and a desperate need to be somewhere – _anywhere_ – else. She had suspected she might die out there, and a part of her had been disappointed that she'd learned to survive instead.

But she would not be alone when she walked through those gates. This time, Lexa would be with her. The realization made warmth blossom in her chest, somewhat steaming out the chill of her anxiety. While her burden of worry remained, it did not hang so heavily over her heart.

“Thinking about home?” Lexa’s voice startled Clarke out of her thoughts.

Clarke paused for a moment, weighing whether or not to let the alpha in on her current conflict. _Well, she was there for when they burst in and almost started shooting up the Summit… I guess she’s already seen the ugly side of us. If there even_ is _an ‘us.’_

“Thinking about whether or not Arkadia _is_ home,” she said honestly. “When I left there, it was different. _I_ was different. It had a different name…and so did I.” For the first month and a half of her time in the wilderness she had been nameless, speaking to no one except in grunts and gestures because of how little Trigedasleng she had. And then, when she had begun to learn enough to communicate, and had heard the word _Wanheda_ whispered around campfires and among worried, suspicious tradesmen at the posts and villages where she swapped her furs and meat for clothing and food and, occasionally, a roof over her head, she had been careful to offer up fake names, or none at all, as though that might keep the title from catching up to her and sticking. But _Wanheda_ had become her name after all – sometimes whispered reverently, sometimes spat violently in her face, but always a reminder of what she’d done to earn it.

Lexa seemed to sense her uncertainty, because she steered her mount closer, near enough that their legs bumped together with each of their horses’ steps. “You left a hero to your people,” she said earnestly, “no matter the circumstances… They cannot ignore that you did what you did to save them. That you alone bear the weight of their actions.”

Clarke couldn’t help but snort. “Yeah? I guess we’ll see.”

Lexa frowned at her sudden outburst of bad temper, but soldiered on. “You left a hero,” she insisted, “and you return one. You bring them the body of Nia of _Azgeda,_ proof that the debt of lives from Mount Weather has been repaid. Proof that I have kept my word…”

She trailed off uncertainly, and when Clarke glanced over at her, the alpha was staring at her hands where they gripped the reins. Even if her nose hadn’t been hyper-attuned to Lexa’s scent, Clarke would have recognized the obvious tension in her body. Now it was her turn to lean closer, nudging Lexa’s knee with her own to get the Commander’s attention. Green eyes flicked up to meet hers, darkened with worry and an aching hope, and Clarke had to swallow hard before she could answer. “You’ve kept your word,” she said, trying to put as much assurance in her tone as possible. “You’re the one who got us into the Coalition, and you’re the one who fought to keep us there.” _And nearly died for it._ She paused to keep that phrase from slipping out of her mouth, and then said instead, “You bring them justice.”

Lexa’s lips curled up in a broad smile. “ _We_ bring them peace.”

Clarke hid her own smile in the collar of her jacket.

They rode in silence for a while longer, stopping briefly for a light lunch at midday. The day was cool, and as the afternoon wore on into evening the chilly fog that had hovered close to the ground in the morning had turned into a chilly mist. Eventually enough droplets had beaded on Lexa’s thick mane of hair that the alpha took her sash of office and wound it over her head as a makeshift hood; Clarke had a blue sash of her own that Lexa had insisted she wear, to denote her status as an Ambassador (never mind the fact that none of the other Ambassadors wore such things), and she followed suit. At one point soon after she’d done so, Clarke caught Lexa looking at her out of the corner of her eye; when she turned to look fully at the alpha, however, she was looking straight ahead, her jaw firm and her face set. But the small smile that hadn’t yet left her lips was just a little wider.

The relative silence – broken only by the creaking of the wagon, the low murmurs of Lexa’s attendants, and the whickering of the horses – had been comfortable during the morning, but the nearer they got to Polis, the more Clarke’ss worries preyed on her. She withdrew further and further into dire imaginings of hostile crowds and unfriendly faces, shouted accusations and whispered threats. But before she could sink into too dark of a funk, Lexa came trotting up from where she had been conferring with the rearguard. She took the measure of Clarke’s mood in one glance, and when she spoke, her voice was determinedly cheerful.

“Have you given any thought to what you’d like to do the next time you’re in Polis?”

Clarke blinked. The truth was, she hadn’t thought at all beyond what she’d have to do during this visit to keep the peace. She realized that for whatever reason, she’d been assuming that she would be heading back to Polis when Lexa did, but the alpha’s words made it sound like it wasn’t so. She tried to ignore the way the idea made her heart sink. “I…hadn’t really,” she said, turning in the saddle to look at her mate. “I guess I’ll be staying in Arkadia after this, right?”

Lexa nodded, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “Yes. If, that is…I mean…well, as an Ambassador, you’ll live with your people, but you’ll be expected to come to Polis when summoned. In the event of a war summit, or some point of policy that needs to be discussed among all of the clans, or a Conclave. But…” Her eyes and voice turned soft, and Clarke felt her heart clench again. “Polis will always be open to you, no matter when you choose to return, or under what circumstances.” The unspoken message was that _I will always be open to you. Just return to me someday._

Clarke tried to give Lexa a reassuring smile. “I’ll be back one day, I promise. But I have to admit, I didn’t get to know the city as well as I wanted to. Next time I’m there, I think I’d like a tour.” She paused, pretending to think. “But who could be convinced to show me around, do you think?”

Lexa grinned at her. “I’m sure someone could be found. I've heard the Commander is rather partial to winsome omegas with golden hair.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, snorting at her mate's dorkiness, and was about to return in kind when shouts went up from the advance scouts, who had all ridden ahead to meet up with Indra's army and discuss the disposition of their camps. “ _Heda! Komba raun, snap!”_

Lexa dug her heels into her horse's sides and was off like a shot, cresting the rise over which, Clarke knew, would lie her first view of Arkadia in three months. She was tempted to hang back, but the scout's voice had been filled with fear and horror. Urging her own horse forward, she soon drew even with Lexa, preparing to ask what was wrong. But when she reached the top of the ridge, she didn’t need to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigedasleng:**
> 
> _Os sonop:_ Good morning  
>  _*towakepa:_ head housekeeper  
>  _Eting ste ogud:_ Is everything all right?  
>  _Haihefa:_ King  
>  _Heda na kom op:_ The Commander is coming!  
>  _Mebi oso hit choda op nodotaim:_ May we meet again  
>  _Bandrona kom Skaikru:_ Ambassador of the Sky People  
>  _Os soujon:_ Good journey!  
>  _Heda! Komba raun, snap:_ Commander! Come here, quickly!


	13. we are the dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a doozy. Finally, we're really starting to deviate from canon in a major way, that has major consequences for the storyline, and for its ending. However, I need to warn you that if you're still having a difficult time with the events in Orlando, you may want to hold off on reading this chapter. It deals with some of the events in 3x05, "Hakeldama," which may prove triggering to some of you. Please, please take care of yourselves. That being said, I'm excited to hear what you think of this chapter, and what it changes. Please let me know what you think in the comments and on tumblr @n1ghtwr1ter.
> 
> [](http://s558.photobucket.com/user/calfaolan/media/green78%20-%20young%20gods%20cover_zpsi9hmjfrz.jpg.html)  
> 

_They're all dead._

That was the first thought in Clarke's head as she looked out upon the field of bodies that had once been a proud Grounder army. Voices clamored in her mind that there was no way, there had to be survivors somewhere, maybe hiding in the woods… But Lexa's scouts had been sweeping through the forest a mile on either side of their party to prevent any surprises. If there had been a band of warriors hiding in the woods, the scouts would have reported them. _But there might still be survivors among the bodies. If there are, we have to help them! If we can get them to my mom fast enough, we might be able to save…_

_“Heda! Miya, snap!”_

Lexa was off her horse and sprinting across the ridge, darting between the bodies of the slain and slaughtered on her way to the man who’d hailed her. Clarke slipped shakily down from her horse as well, noticing that despite her haste and the thickness of the field of bodies, the Commander somehow managed to never step on anyone. But as Clarke drew closer, dread boiling hotter in her gut with each step she took, it became clear that it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.

The ground squelched beneath her boots every time she took a step. She was caught in a horrible circuit between trying not to look out of respect for the dead, and forcing herself to look so that she might remember what had happened to them forever. _Azgeda_ were going to pay for this, she swore to herself. _Fucking Roan, with all his bullshit about being in Lexa’s debt twice over…_ But when she brought herself at last to study the faces of the slain, she felt as though she’d been pierced through the heart. None of the people at her feet bore the telltale slashes of axes or swords or spears. A few of them had knife wounds, but they were quick, clean cuts – assassinations, she thought. The rest, though…the rest of the bodies were riddled with bullets.

For a moment she couldn’t process what it could mean. _Have_ Azgeda _started using guns? But where did they get them? How did they train with them, so that they could kill three hundred warriors this quickly and brutally? How could they have…_ And then the truth of the situation hit her, making her feel like all of the oxygen had suddenly gone out of the air.

_We did this._

“Indra!”

The voice was Lexa’s, full of pain and confusion. Clarke’s head snapped up from where she was examining the bullet hole in the forehead of a warrior – no more than a girl, really, her face as placid in death as it might have been in sleep. But while the Commander sounded anguished, there was something else in her tone that made Clarke start to run towards where she was crouched. As she neared, she understood: propped up against a stump, struggling to breathe as blood poured from a wound under her armor – Indra was alive.

Clarke sprinted to where Lexa was crouched, waves of frantic pheromones pouring from her. The beta general was struggling for breath, and Clarke could tell it was bad – “I need bandages, _now!”_ she snapped at one of the scouts as she dropped to her knees beside Indra. Blood bubbled up as she peeled away the shoulderplate concealing most of the bullet hole, and she grimaced as she was handed a rag to patch it with – but it looked clean, and it was better than nothing.

But when she moved to pack it into the wound, Indra snarled at her, teeth bared. Clarke pulled back, startled by the fear and rage pouring from the normally mild-smelling beta. “Don’t touch me,” the general hissed. “You’re one of _them.”_

“Indra!” Lexa barked, alpha overtones layered above the desperation in her voice. “ _Teik em sis au.”_

“ _Beja,”_ Clarke said, hoping that it might calm the beta to hear her own language. “ _Ai gaf wada yu ledon klin.”_

Indra shook her head, jaw set stubbornly, and Clarke nearly snarled in frustrated panic. In desperation, she whirled to stare at Lexa pleadingly, and the alpha stood to her full height. “ _Indra,”_ she said, her eyes wide and her voice resonant. “ _Teik em sis au. Em ste fisa, en’a fis yu op.”_

The beta curled her lip, but she could not resist the order of her alpha and Commander. Turning her head to the side and exposing her neck, she allowed Clarke to shuffle forward and stuff the rags into the wound, letting out a low groan. “How did this happen?” Clarke said urgently as she tore up more rags into strips so that she could secure the bandage in place. The beta turned a baleful eye on her, looking like she didn’t want to answer, but one glance at Lexa told her she must.

“Our watch was set to the north,” she said, through teeth gritted against the pain. “We were on the lookout for _Azgeda…_ They came in the night. Took out our archers and – _ah!”_ She winced as Clarke bound her arm in a makeshift sling that would keep it from moving and aggravating the wound. She glared as Clarke hitched it tighter, but the omega ignored her and raised her eyebrow, indicating for her to go on. “We couldn’t get close to them. They slaughtered everyone…moved among the wounded and executed them all.”

Clarke swallowed back the bile that rose into her mouth at the thought of her people doing such a thing. These were people she had grown up on the Ark with, taken Earth Skills classes with, maybe even stolen kisses from in the humming darkness of the generator room. Who among them could have done such a thing? “How did you survive?” Clarke asked, the words tasting bitter on her tongue.

“Bellamy,” Indra said, and Clarke’s blood ran cold.

“ _Bellamy_ was with them?” _There has to be some mistake. I know he was angry after Mount Weather but there’s no way he could have done something like this… His sister’s practically a Grounder. She’s_ mated _to someone from_ Trikru, _and these were all_ Trikru…

“They were going to kill me, but Bellamy stopped them,” the general said, flecks of blood covering her lips with each word. “He convinced their leader to leave me alive, to send a message.”

“What message?” Lexa said harshly. Clarke looked at her, and immediately wished she hadn’t. She was radiating pure fury, practically vibrating with it, and for the first time in her life Clarke was honestly terrified when she looked at her mate.

“That _Skaikru_ rejects the Coalition,” Indra rasped, her eyes boring into Clarke. “That this is _Skaikru_ land, and we can either leave…or die.”

Lexa let out a harsh snarl, her hands balling into fists. Clarke was shaking now with the effort of not kneeling before her and showing her neck, but she couldn’t do it – not until she had finished tying off Indra’s bandages. “Who was their leader?” she asked the beta, dreading the answer. _I wouldn’t have thought that Kane would do something like this, but Bellamy went along with it, so I guess I don’t know everyone as well as I thought I did. Oh god – what if it was my mom…_

But the name that came out of Indra’s lips on a bloody growl was one that she honestly would never have expected, that she hadn’t heard in a very long time:

_“It was Pike.”_

***

For a moment all was still, like the calm before the storm, or like they were of the dead themselves. Clarke felt like a wraith, scarcely existing among these bodies, bodies that had only last night been among the living. But she was abruptly snapped back to reality when Lexa threw her head back to the sky and howled.

It was a long, vicious, agonized sound, and it echoed through the valley. Clarke was sure that Arkadia must have heard the sound of the Commander’s grief, and also, maybe, her war cry. They were all down on their knees, heads bowed toward Lexa, by the time her anguished call had ended, but it was still powerful enough that its reverberations made Clarke flinch. She scarcely dared look Lexa in the eye – and yet she also knew that she was probably the only one who could.

Shaking with the strain of pushing back against the waves of seething pheromones pouring off of Lexa, Clarke slowly climbed to her feet and raised her head. The alpha looked savage, even feral, and Clarke quaked just to look at her – but a voice inside reminded her, _This is your mate. This is_ Lexa. _She would never harm you…anyone but you._

Clarke drew a trembling breath to speak, not even sure what she’d say, just knowing she had to say something, _anything,_ to Lexa, to try to make her human again, to calm the terrible wildness in her eyes. But before she could say anything, the Commander’s head snapped to one of her guards. “Send riders,” she snarled at the cowering alpha. “I call upon the armies of the Twelve Clans! In three days’ time, we will lay waste to Arkadia, and all who lie within!”

Clarke’s blood ran cold. Lexa had just signed the death warrant of her mother, her friends, everyone who lived in Arkadia…whether they had taken part in the massacre or not. Tears swam in her eyes as she watched several of the scouts rush to do Lexa’s bidding, mounting their horses and riding away at top speed. _This can’t be right…the people I know are afraid of the Grounders and don’t trust them, but they wouldn’t do this. They wouldn’t all have followed Pike…right?_ The more she thought about it, the more Clarke became convinced that there had to be something more, something they were missing, something they hadn’t yet seen. A frantic, desperate hope rose within her, and she reached for Lexa without thinking.

The alpha yanked her arm back before Clarke could touch it, snarling, her eyes nearly black with fury. Clarke gasped and flinched away before she could stop herself, momentarily stunned by the anger roiling off of Lexa, like an impenetrable black cloud. At her frightened reaction, Lexa softened…but only a little. Still, it was enough for Clarke to swallow down her fear and slowly continue her approach, as though Lexa was a wounded predator at bay. “Lexa,” she said quietly, once she was within earshot of a low murmur, “please. Give me time to…to fix this. To see –”

“There is _nothing_ that can fix this,” Lexa snarled, “except justice. _Jus drein, jus daun.”_ Clarke heard Indra repeat the words from where she lay near their feet.

“Lexa, _please,”_ Clarke said, more urgently. She could feel her own pheromones unfurling to attempt to entwine with Lexa’s, not to entice this time, but to plead. They curled around the iron wall of the alpha’s fury, seeking out cracks and weak points…but there were none to be found, not yet. “Please listen to me,” she said, feeling like her entire self was being squeezed down to these tiny, inadequate words. “I can’t believe that everyone in Arkadia could have wanted this, could have gone along with Pike. If you’ll just let me go there and _talk_ to them, talk to Kane and my mom and Bellamy, I can find out the truth of what happened here.”

Something turned in Lexa’s eyes at that last word, and Clarke at last saw her opportunity, and drove straight for it with everything she had. “Please,” she said, turning her neck to show her throat – to show the place where she knew that Lexa could see her mating bite, even though it was obscured by makeup. But Clarke knew for herself that she could sense Lexa’s mark wherever she was, no matter what she was wearing, as though she had infrared vision targeted directly on it, and she was sure that it must be the same for the Commander. “How can you have justice if you don’t have truth?”

She saw the moment that Lexa’s mind changed, and some small, ugly part of her felt smug satisfaction as she watched the Commander give her a short, sharp nod. But the rest of her was just tired. For some reason she’d thought her journey was over – she’d returned to Arkadia victorious, bringing peace, bringing prosperity, bringing reason – and everything else was supposed to go smoothly after that, right? But of course it didn’t; she was Clarke Griffin. Once again, she had to save the world.

_All right, enough self-pity. Time to go to work._

Turning to Indra, she crouched down by the injured beta’s side once more. “Indra, at the Summit Kane gave you a radio, a way to signal him if you needed to. Do you still have it?”

The beta nodded stiffly, clearly not wanting to have anything to do with Clarke, but under the watchful eye of her Commander she could not disobey. “I need you to get in touch with him,” Clarke continued. “ _Please._ ” After a long moment of hesitation, coupled with a baleful glare, Indra reached down to pull aside her long war coat and revealed a radio clipped to her belt.

“It’s tuned to a private frequency,” she explained, her words laden with pain and animosity. “Kane told me to press it in three bursts – two short, one long – if I needed to contact him. If it was an emergency.”

Clarke nodded. “May I?” When Indra indicated her assent, she reached down to unclip the device. _So he didn’t just tell her to call him on it… Was he anticipating something like this?_ But there was no time to figure it out – Lexa might have granted her clemency for now, but she knew it wouldn’t last. So she did as Indra had said, pressing the call button briefly twice, and then one more time for longer, her finger shaking against the plastic. They waited for a tense minute, stretched out into an eternity by the eerie stillness of the battlefield – _No. There was no battle. This was a massacre._

All three of them were startled by an answering burst of static – two long, one short. “That’s the acknowledgement,” Indra said heavily. “He will come to us soon.” The beta’s words were noticeably slurring together, and when Clarke glanced at her, she noticed that Indra was alarmingly pale under the blood and dirt and warpaint.

“We need to get her inside somewhere warm,” Clarke said, turning to Lexa, “and get her fresh food – she’s lost a lot of blood…”

The Commander began barking out orders in rapid-fire Trigedasleng, sending her guards running. A group of them had already begun to set up Lexa’s tent at the edge of the forest, far enough away from the field of dead that they wouldn’t be able to smell them as they rotted, but close enough that there was no way to miss them. Not that there was much chance of that – Clarke knew she’d be seeing them in her dreams tonight. _Along with the three hundred from Mount Weather, the Grounders we burned at the dropship…_ She allowed herself a humorless internal chuckle. _Guess my head_ was _getting a little empty._

It wasn’t long before a group of warriors came hustling over to them with a stretcher, and helped their wounded general onto it with obvious care that stung at Clarke’s heart. Over the beta’s protests, Lexa ordered them to bring Indra into her own tent and set her by the fire. Then she turned to Clarke. “Come,” she said, in a voice that brooked no protest. “You will wait with us.”

Part of Clarke railed at that internally – _so just like that, I’m a prisoner? What happened to allowing me my freedom?_ But she was exhausted and heartsick, and Lexa’s voice still held subtle layers of its alpha overtones, and it was easier to simply lower her head and obey.

***

They waited throughout the afternoon, but except for the initial acknowledgement, there was no sign that Kane was coming. Clarke tended Indra’s wounds as best she could with their limited supplies, boiling rags in a pot of water to sterilize them and cleaning out the bullet holes. Indra was impressively silent throughout the procedure, not even letting a gasp of pain slip through her lips, but towards the end, she passed out, for which Clarke was grateful. The general needed her sleep, and Clarke couldn’t help but be guiltily thankful for a moment out from under the beta’s burning glare.

Lexa’s scouts passed in and out, relaying reports and information, and Lexa dispatched them with orders and warnings. Clarke tried not to listen too closely, knowing it would only drive her crazier with worry, but she couldn't avoid hearing most of it. Despite her agreement to allow Clarke to try and reason with her people, to tease out the truth of what really happened, the Commander was hedging her bets. While she knew that it was Lexa’s duty to do so – _my duty to my people comes first –_ she couldn't help but feel that everything she'd worked and sacrificed for had come to nothing. _She thinks I'm going to fail. I'm going to fail, and her army is going to sweep in and slaughter them all._

Inane though it was, she wanted more than anything to fall into Lexa’s embrace, to seek the comfort of her mate’s warmth and strength and scent. But she didn’t know if Lexa would allow it – the intimidating wave of fury had diminished somewhat, making it tolerable to be in the tent with her, but as the alpha paced back and forth, dishing out orders and conferring with her scouts, she caught the edge of it every so often and it made her shiver. And then there was the matter of those scouts – they were coming in and out so frequently that there was no way they could be assured of one of them not bursting in on them while they were having a moment. _If that even still matters. That game might be over._

Because that was the thing: Lexa had been going into a full-blown territorial display, a deeply-engrained instinctual behavior triggered in alphas by devastating harm to something they considered _theirs._ Clarke had never seen anyone react that way before, although of course she'd studied it – but then again, her people had murdered 300 of Lexa’s in cold blood. Under the circumstances, it didn't seem disproportionate.

In this mode, however, there was practically nothing that could be done to dissuade an alpha from their purpose. Clarke remembered hearing about a case perhaps 50 years ago, when an alpha had caught walked in on the murder of her pups. The alpha had gone into a blind fury and utterly obliterated their killer, beating the man to a pulp and nearly killing him before she could be sedated. The murderer’s family had wanted her tried for assault, but the judge had thrown out the case instantly – they were just lucky that the alpha’s mate had been there and had managed to calm her down from her territorial display before she had killed the murderer of her pups.

And there it was: Clarke’s voice and scent, her nearness, and the display of her mating bite had all combined to bring Lexa out of it – in full view of Indra, and Lexa’s guards and scouts. The only person who should have been able to do something like that were one of the Commander’s pups – or her mate.

Clarke shivered as she watched Lexa pace the tent out of the corner of her eye, her gate stiff and short instead of her usual fluid lope. While Lexa’s mind was clearly churning behind her burning gaze, this was one of the only times she couldn't automatically read her thoughts like a book. It was a terrifyingly vertiginous feeling, like stepping to the edge of a familiar balcony and finding that the guardrail was gone. The only potential saving grace was that Lexa had not progressed into the full territorial display – if she had, she would likely have charged down to the gates of Arkadia and challenged everyone there to face her sword. It was possible that since Lexa had kept her head, and Clarke had helped her do it, Indra and the guards might be convinced that they hadn't seen what they thought they had. It was a slim chance, but it was all they had.

Just when she was about to reach out to Lexa, to crack the tense, icy silence that had existed between them for the last several hours, the sentry captain ducked into the tent. “ _Heda,”_ he said, eyes lowered to the ground just before Lexa’s boots, the smell of his nervousness filtering through the enclosed space. Lexa whirled in the midst of her pacing, fixing him with a stare that made _Clarke_ tremble, even though she was not its object.

“ _Chit kom au?”_

“ _Gona don kom op. Biyo em laik Okteivia kom Skaikru en gaf chich yu in.”_

“Octavia?” Clarke hadn’t realized the eager word had fallen out of her mouth until she suddenly had both the guard captain and Lexa staring at her. She blushed at her outburst, but there was no sense pretending that she was reorganizing the few medical supplies they had for the fiftieth time. After checking that Indra was dozing, she hurried to Lexa’s side. Despite the scent of anger radiating from the alpha, she found comfort in her mate’s nearness, and the last few hours had been fraught enough that she was done trying to pretend she didn’t appreciate it.

“ _Sen em op,”_ Lexa said, her voice a little softer than it had been. The other alpha nodded, and a moment later Octavia’s strong, stocky frame emerged from the gathering dusk.

The other omega’s face was grim and exhausted, and Clarke could understand why – it would have been a long hike up the ridge from Arkadia, climbing through the hill of bodies. Still, the sight of her was so welcome that she entertained a momentary thought of rushing Octavia and pulling the other girl into her arms, but something in the warrior's face warned her that that would be a very bad idea. “Where’s Kane?” she said anxiously, to cover her lapse.

Octavia's eyes were restless, scanning the dim interior of the war tent, never quite settling on one place, as though by moving ceaselessly she might avoid having to remember what she’d seen in the field of the dead. “He couldn’t get away, so he sent me.” And then the other omega's eyes widened as she caught sight of her mentor, on a low pallet by the fire. “Indra!” Completely ignoring the waves of anger and dominance rolling off of Lexa, and the wall of worry and agitation that Clarke knew must be coming from herself, Octavia pushed past both of them and hurried to her mentor's side. Lexa let out a low growl at the disrespect, but without hardly thinking about it, Clarke loosely clasped her fingers around the alpha's wrist. It was enough to quell the rumbling, which it shouldn’t have been – but a quick glance at Octavia suggested that she was too focused on Indra to have noticed.

When the beta cracked open an eye and gave her Second a stiff nod, Octavia let out a short sigh. “Thank god.”

“How did this happen?” Lexa said, lip curled in a snarl as she began her pacing. Octavia’s head snapped up and Clarke tensed; the younger girl’s jaw was clenched, typically a sure sign that she was spoiling for a fight. But either she decided not to risk it with Lexa in this state, or she was too tired, because she simply stood, eyeing the Commander with barely-concealed dislike.

“Kane lost the election to Pike.”

_Election? What election? When was there a…_

“Your people _voted_ for this?” Lexa hissed, whirling to glare at Octavia. To her credit, the omega hardly flinched – just averted her eyes and lowered her head.

Clarke’s ears were roaring, her mind whirling furiously, unable to accept or even process what Octavia had said. The idea that her people had not just condoned this massacre, but _voted_ for the man who had spearheaded it, was beyond all comprehension. She shook her head, attempting to clear it, but her confusion remained. “No. No, I don’t believe that,” she said, voice thick.

“What would you know, Clarke?” Octavia said, low and bitter. “You haven’t _been_ here.”

Ignoring the pangs of guilt that Octavia’s words and tone provoked, Clarke focused on the half-formed plan taking shape in her brain. “I need to see Bellamy.” Her gaze flicked back and forth between her mate and her friend, willing them to see sense. _If I can just get to Bellamy, we can figure this out. He can help me make this right. He’s done it before…_

Lexa looked stormy and immediately opened her mouth to argue, but to Clarke’s surprise Octavia spoke first. “Bellamy’s part of this,” she scoffed. “He’s runs with Pike’s pack now, haven’t you heard? Oh right, you wouldn’t have. Well, guess what? He helped lock my mate up, and all of the other Grounders in Arkadia. He’s not gonna help us.”

Clarke felt sick to her stomach. Part of her continued its nervous insistence that that couldn’t be true, Bellamy wasn’t like that, he couldn’t have had a part in this slaughter…but another part darkly remembered the time when they’d first fallen to Earth, how Bellamy had quickly formed up his gang of alphas and attempted to impose his will on what were supposed to be the first humans to inhabit the ground in nearly a century. As much as he’d become a loyal friend and dependable second-in-command, she couldn’t forget just how bone-deep the importance of _pack_ went to him. Bellamy needed to belong. She had left, he’d been angry, and now…he’d found someone else to follow.

Still, she wasn’t ready to give him up just yet – couldn’t abandon him as an anchor tying her to Arkadia. “He saved Indra’s life,” she said, aware that she was grasping at straws. “There’s still a part of him in there that can see reason. If I can get to him, I can make him listen…and he can get to Pike.”

Lexa had been conspicuously silent up until now, but Clarke had felt the tension growing in the Commander like an approaching storm. Now that storm broke over their heads with a snarl. “You can’t just walk into Arkadia, Clarke,” Lexa spat. Clarke whirled on her, arching an eyebrow in clear challenge, momentarily heedless of the fact that by all rights she should be lowering her eyes and her head to the furious alpha. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Octavia’s brows rise, and she cringe internally, but the other omega said nothing.

“Am I your _prisoner_ now, Commander?” Clarke said, her subtle emphasis enough to make Lexa wince. But the alpha bore on stubbornly.

“You’ve been living with their enemy, Clarke,” she said, ignoring the fact that she’d actually been doing a great deal more than that. _I wonder how Pike would react if he found out I was carrying the enemy’s pups…_ “If it were me, I’d kill you myself.”

And there it was: the fear behind Lexa’s rage, the terror that she’d be allowing her mate and unborn children to go where Lexa couldn’t follow, couldn’t keep her safe. The Commander hid it very well, but Clarke could sense it, could practically smell nothing else as soon as she’d caught its edge. With a quick glance at Octavia, she took one step closer, allowing her hormones to flow, putting as much calm and comfort into her own scent as she could. “Lexa, _please,”_ she said with quiet urgency. “I need to do this.”

Lexa shook her head, and Clarke felt a brief flash of frustration spark in her chest, but before she could let it out Octavia spoke up. “I can get her in.”

Both of them turned. There was something altogether too knowing in Octavia’s eyes, which rested on Clarke only for a moment before moving to Lexa. _She knows,_ Clarke realized. _She knows, and she understands that it’s Lexa she has to convince._

The two of them held each other’s gazes for a long moment, during which Clarke held her breath. Finally, just when Clarke was ready to scream, Lexa’s shoulders dropped in a quiet sigh. “Very well. Keep her safe, _Okteivia kom Skaikru.”_

Clarke wanted very badly in that moment to throw her arms around Lexa, to assure her that she’d return, to breathe in her scent and let it give her courage. Octavia had figured it out, Indra was dozing…and yet she still couldn’t bring herself to do it. It felt like a small step, but an infinitely important one, one she just wasn’t quite ready to take. She settled for locking her eyes with Lexa’s, trying to tell her wordlessly everything she wasn’t yet ready to say, and then she murmured, “I’ll be careful.”

Lexa nodded, but she didn’t look satisfied. “Octavia, could you give us a moment?” The other omega nodded and left the tent, and Lexa stepped in closer – so close that Clarke could feel the heat of her body, felt herself enveloped in a cloud of Lexa’s scent. They weren’t touching anywhere, but they might as well have been. Clarke’s head spun with Lexa’s nearness, and she only had the wherewithal to nod when the alpha murmured, low, “Come back to me.” But that wasn’t enough, because Lexa continued, “If you’re not back by sunrise, I will storm Arkadia and tear it apart until I’ve found you, or they’ve given you back. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Clarke whispered, and Lexa’s lips were just so close, just barely parted, and it woul*d hardly take anything to just lean up and erase the distance. Her entire body ached to do it, but she knew that if she did, she would never leave. She would kiss Lexa, and the world could burn down around them, and all she would care about was that she could go on kissing her, touching her, being with her, being _hers._

“Go,” Lexa breathed, releasing Clarke from her spell. Clarke turned on her heel and fled.

***

Octavia took her on a highly circuitous and convoluted route down the hill towards Arkadia, finding cover in ridges and pocks as they wended their way towards the fence. It hummed angrily in the gathering dusk, and Clarke wondered how they were going to get past it, but then Octavia reached under her jacket and thumbed the call button on a radio, generating a short burst of static. The fence’s buzz stopped, and the younger girl mouthed, “Thirty seconds,” before reaching for a loose piece of plating near the bottom and holding it up for Clarke to slip through.

They made their way to the rear of the massive, rusting hulk that was all that remained of the Ark. Clarke could see that it had been cannibalized to build other shelters, its hull torn away for use as roofs on huts and cabins and storehouses made otherwise of wood. Aside from the wreckage of the former space station and the electric fence that surrounded it, Arkadia looked more than ever like a Grounder village. Clarke wondered if anyone appreciated the irony.

Octavia hustled her through a loose piece of siding and into what she recognized as an access tunnel. They had to move carefully through the echoing ductwork, and more than once she was certain that a poorly placed knee or elbow had given them away, but no shouts rang out, no booted feet clattered towards them through the corridors. It was a surreal experience, sneaking into the place that had once been her home, but with a slight pang Clarke realized it wasn’t as strange as it might have been. She had spent her last year on the Ark in captivity before being violently expelled from it, like a piece of trash. _Doesn’t exactly encourage warm fuzzy feelings._

After an agonizingly long time spent crawling through the walls, Octavia unfastened another loose panel and entered the main hall. Hustling Clarke into an empty room, which she recognized as her former Earth Skills classroom, she held a finger to her lips. “Wait here. I’ll whistle when I’m on my way back with Bell. If you hear anybody else coming, hide.” Clarke nodded, and then Octavia was gone, and she was alone in the damp, sweating darkness.

It seemed to take forever, and she was certain that she jumped at every little noise and rustle and creak that the Ark made. She tried not to, but she couldn't help trying to parse Bellamy’s motives for something so unimaginable. She carried a similar number of dead, but she had killed for survival, killed because she had no choice. He had made this choice in safety, behind the security of Arkadia’s walls, and now he would have to live with it, if he could. _Stop thinking about it,_ she told herself, but her mind seemed incapable of not torturing itself.

At last four low, clear notes came floating to her out of the darkness. Without thinking, Clarke whistled them back, and then Octavia emerged from the gloom, trailing Bellamy. As soon as Clarke saw his face, she had to turn away, feeling bile rise in her throat. She couldn't stand to look at him, because there were the ghosts of three hundred Grounders in his eyes, the souls of a peacekeeping army who had been sent to protect him and the rest, and whom he had slaughtered out of…what? Pure xenophobic _spite?_

 _Good,_ she found herself thinking wrathfully. _I hope it haunts him for the rest of his days._

Finally, she forced herself to look at him again, and found him on his knees, head bowed to the ground and shoulders slumped as though he was under the yoke of a great weight. Her lip lifted, but the snarl did not come out; his posture was one of utter submission and humility, and his usually powerful scent was so muted that she might have mistaken him for a beta if she hadn't known better. She wanted to speak, wanted to rage and scream at him, but there was a lump of bitterness and fury in her throat around which she couldn’t quite force her words. They remained like that for a long time. The only noise that broke the silence was the soft click of Octavia slipping out the door, leaving them alone.

“I’m not going to apologize, because I know it wouldn’t mean anything,” Bellamy croaked at last. “I won’t ask for your forgiveness, because I know you can’t grant it, and you wouldn’t even if you could.”

“You’re right, I wouldn’t,” Clarke hissed. The silence stretched for another minute, and then two, until finally a question burned its way to the front of her brain and burst from her mouth.

“ _Why?”_

The alpha sighed, a low noise that seemed to release something from his entire body, making him look slumped and small. “I don’t…I wasn’t thinking straight. That’s the only explanation I can come up with – and that’s an explanation, not an excuse. I was so angry, and afraid, and worried they were gonna come for us next, and you were gone…”

“I don’t care what you _felt,”_ Clarke spat, struggling to keep her voice low. “What happened, Bellamy? I thought I could trust you.”

Bellamy shook his head. “I thought I could trust myself, but I was wrong. I don’t…I’m not good without you, Clarke.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Clarke narrowed her eyes at him.

“It means…I don’t know. I guess I just don’t know which way is up when you’re not around. And Pike was saying things, things that made sense, and he was angry too, and he’d lost people, like I lost Gina, and…”

“If all you’re gonna give me is excuses, I don’t know why I’m wasting my time,” she said, folding her arms and turning away. But when Bellamy spoke next, there was a broken note in his voice that tugged at something inside of her, and made her look back at him despite herself.

“I was scared, okay? I was scared and I was angry, and in between that and missing Gina all I could think about was how much I wished you were here to tell me what to do. Because what Pike was saying sounded wrong, I knew that, but it was sounding less and less wrong every day. He was saying that the Grounders were our enemies, that the only way to really, finally be safe was to make sure they weren’t anywhere near our land. And I liked the sound of that – _our land._ Like we belonged somewhere, for once. Like there was a place for us.”

He rose to his feet and began to pace, his voice dull and his face nearly motionless as he unfurled his story. But Clarke could tell that his flat affect masked a deep, abiding pain – brief flickers of it showed in his eyes, in the way his jaw tensed, the restless way he moved. “Everybody was just so on edge when Kane and your mom left for the Summit, and then when we found out about the attack it just…boiled over. Pike started talking to people – talking to _me_ – about how we needed to arm ourselves, improve our defenses, because if the Grounders could do that they could wipe us out whenever they wanted. He made it sound like an inevitability that they’d come for us. And the only thing that didn’t make me feel totally useless was the idea that we could be prepared.”

“You didn’t _need_ to feel useful,” Clarke said coldly. “You needed to trust me and my mom and Kane that we were going to protect everyone.”

“I know,” Bellamy said agitatedly, pulling at his hair, “but it was really hard to believe that, with you gone… And then your mom and Kane came back and said we were supposed to be _friends_ with the Grounders now, and to follow the Commander who abandoned us at Mount Weather, and people just...blew up. It just made no sense, and what Pike had been saying did. When the army got here, everyone was ready to snap. They didn’t approach us, didn’t say anything, and I just thought, _This is it._ You know? Like, _it's time. They’re finally here to kill us all, and we're not ready._ And then Pike told me his plan.”

Clarke had been stewing over his words for a while, but now she couldn’t hold back. “It _made sense_ to murder 300 people in their sleep? Is that seriously what you’re going with?”

“It was brutal, but at least we were doing something, not just waiting for them to turn on us,” the alpha said, his scent betraying desperation. “So that night, we loaded up – me, Pike, and maybe thirteen other people – and we went to the camp. When we got there, I saw they were…were _Trikru.”_ His voice broke on the last word. “I tried to tell him that, tried to explain, to tell him that they were the good Grounders, but he said, ‘The only good Grounder is a dead Grounder.’” He shook his head. “That was when I realized what we were there to do.”

“What, like you didn’t know?” Clarke sneered. “You thought you were getting loaded for bear and sneaking out to the _Trikru_ camp in the middle of the night to…what? Play a funny prank?”

“That was what Pike said,” Bellamy continued, looking desolate. “I told him that this wasn’t what I signed up for, and he asked me what the hell I thought I had signed up for. And I said I didn’t know…frighten them off, or intimidate them, or something.”

“Bullshit,” Clarke growled, and Bellamy nodded.

“It was. I know it was, and I think I knew what he was planning all along, I just...didn’t want to admit it to myself. So I kept protesting, hoping that maybe I could convince him, could rein him in. Because he listened to me. He seemed to want my opinion, he asked my advice, and Kane just shut me out.” Clarke scoffed, but he kept going. “He just stood there listening to me for a while, and everybody else just looked at me, until finally he pulled me closer and put the muzzle of his rifle under my chin.”

Bellamy finally stopped his pacing, his face grey with exhaustion and his brow dotted with chilly sweat. His eyes were practically begging for sympathy, and Clarke hated herself for having some, but she would be dead before she let him see it. She just kept glaring at him until he continued. “He said that he didn’t have time for people who were going to question him, and he asked me if I wanted to be the first one dead tonight. And what was I going to say? Was I supposed to die for all of them? I looked at everybody who was with us – people who were with us at Mount Weather, people I risked my life to save, and they were silent. They weren’t going to do anything. They were just going to let Pike kill me, and then they were going to go and kill all of the Grounders, and that would be it. So I said no.”

“And then you murdered them all.”

He nodded miserably. “Almost all of them. I tried to convince him to let the wounded live, but he wouldn’t bend. He said they’d survive and they’d come back for us and they’d bring a thousand more of their people with them, and we couldn’t let that happen. I knew that they’d just kill me if I didn’t do what he said, and just kill all the rest of them, so I went along. But when I saw Indra, I couldn’t let her die. I convinced Pike to let me leave her alive, so that she could send a message.”

“Well, that backfired, didn’t it, because there _are_ going to be thousands of them on our doorstep in _three days_ unless I can convince Lexa not to attack with her entire army!” Clarke burst out.

Bellamy went pale, but it didn’t seem to be news to him. “I know. Octavia told me. Which is why I want to help.”

“I think you’ve already done enough,” Clarke said, turning away.

“Please, Clarke!” the alpha said, reaching for her. “Just listen –”

She threw his hand off her arm, hissing, “Don’t touch me!” He backed away, but not before she’d gotten a whiff of the sour scent of his desperation.

“I know there’s _nothing_ I can say or do that will make up for what I’ve done,” he said, head bowed, broad shoulders turned in on themselves, as small and powerless as she’d ever seen him. “But I have to try. Please, just give me this chance. Pike doesn’t trust me as much as he used to, because I questioned him, but I’m still close to him. I’m still in his inner circle. I don’t think we can just take him out…people won’t stand for that. He’s too popular, and nobody will trust your mom or Kane, because they’ll think they did it. But there are enough people that don’t agree with him, and enough who went along with him because they were scared, that we might be able to start an uprising. Get him removed from power, or get enough people together and take him out. And after it’s over, I’ll surrender myself to the Commander’s justice. She can kill me if that’s what she wants, but before that, I need to try to make this right.”

She wanted to tell him no, to go fuck himself, but this was what she’d come here for. She needed him. And to her own disgust, she felt some kind of relief that this was so – that she could have him on her side again, even if it was only provisionally. She hated herself for it, but she couldn’t deny it: she needed him, and she was glad that he was working with her again. “Fine,” she said, feeling a mixture of cold anger and warm relief filter through her, making her shiver. “But don’t think that this makes up for everything. I’m going to hold you to what you said.” _And I hope Lexa does kill you,_ she thought, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it, because he was still her friend, still a familiar face from before all of this had happened, and it was fucking _complicated,_ wasn’t it.

He gave her a wan smile, looking like he hadn’t slept in a hundred years. “I won’t let you down,” he promised. “I’ll keep in touch with O on the radio, have her tell you how things are going… It’ll be just like before, right? I’ll be your inside man.”

Clarke sighed, running her hand through her hair. “Yeah, I guess so. I have to go back and try to convince Lexa not to wipe everybody out when her army gets here, but it’ll be a stay of execution at best. So whatever you’re gonna do…do it fast.”

Bellamy nodded, heading to the door and knocking on it to signal for Octavia. Before he left, he turned, giving her a look that made her heart seize in her chest, because it was almost like the old Bellamy, how he’d looked to her when he’d been by her side, standing with her and backing her play. “Be safe,” he said.

Clarke nodded. “You too.” And then he slipped out the door and was gone into the echoing darkness of the Ark. Clarke let out a shaky breath, silently trying to collect herself, and then followed, to where Octavia was waiting to bring her back to Lexa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigedasleng:**
> 
> Miya, snap: Come here, fast!
> 
> Teik em sis au: Let her help you
> 
> Beja. Ai gaf wada yu ledon klin: Please. I need to clean your wound.
> 
> Em ste fisa, en’a fis yu op: She’s a healer, and she’ll heal you.
> 
> Gona don kom op. Biyo em laik Okteivia kom Skaikru en gaf chich yu in: A warrior has arrived. She says she’s Octavia of the Sky People and she needs to speak with you.
> 
> Sen em op: Send her in


	14. to you from falling hands we throw the torch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm sorry it's been such a long time, but this chapter was a needy bastard - required a lot of care and attention. It's different from canon in some subtle but, I think, important ways. I'd love to hear your thoughts on whether or not it worked. Let me know in the comments, or on my tumblr @n1ghtwr1ter. 
> 
> [](http://s558.photobucket.com/user/calfaolan/media/green78%20-%20young%20gods%20cover_zpsi9hmjfrz.jpg.html)   
> 

It had been agony to let Clarke out of her sight, even for the brief moments that she had to look away in order to speak to her scouts. She felt the loss of her people like a wound, a gaping hole in her chest that ached every time she moved, spoke, breathed. It created a vacuum within her, her alpha roaring to pull Clarke close and never let her go. Never spend another moment without feeling her warmth, never take another breath without it being filtered through her scent, never hear another sound without the steady overlay of her heartbeat… If something like this could happen, 300 lives ripped from the world so swiftly, how easy would it be to lose just one?

 _Too easy,_ her mind supplied. Visions of a head, cut and mutilated and barely recognizable, in the same bed that she had made love to its owner mere hours before, rose before her eyes, and she had to shut them tight against the bitter memories. But that had made them more vivid, and the only thing that banished them was the sight of Clarke, crouched by the fire as she tended to Indra. And then to have Octavia arrive, and for Clarke to even _suggest_ that they be parted—and not only that, but to be delivered into the arms of their enemies—

She’d needed to shut her eyes again in order to keep from roaring. This time, the visions that accosted her were conjurations of her mind, how she imagined the torments that Costia must have faced. They weren’t real, but they were no less vivid for all of that—and her mind had had four years to sharpen its torture. She knew what Nia’s minions were capable of, and the idea of Clarke undergoing even a fraction of it made her want to scream.

But then Clarke had stepped in close, had looked at her with those pleading eyes, blue as the sky that she’d fallen from, and her scent had soothed the monster raging in Lexa’s chest enough for her to give the omega a tight nod. A moment later she’d wished she could take it back, but the relief that had broken through the fear in Clarke’s face and scent had stopped her. She'd trembled with the need to hold her mate, but she was mindful both of the company they were in and of the fact that if she took Clarke into her arms, she’d never be able to let her go.

Before Clarke had left her tent, Lexa had promised that if she returned even a moment after sunrise, she’d storm Arkadia with everything she had and would not rest until she’d found her mate, or her body. And if it was the latter, she’d thought but not said, absolutely nothing would stop her from slaughtering every last one of the _Skaikru_ and razing Arkadia to the ground. But _Keryon,_ it had taken everything she had to keep from charging after her and doing just that.

The night was cold, an evening late in a spring that had yet to entirely forget the winter's chill, and yet it seemed breathless to her as she paced the tent, around and around until she was certain that her feet must be wearing a track in the earth. She occupied as much of her time as she could with receiving reports from her scouts, poring over maps of the area and plotting out the optimal disposition of her forces in the surrounding hills, but it still wasn’t enough, and her mind ran rampant. _What if she doesn’t return? What if they’ve been discovered, and she’s being held, questioned… What if it was a trick, and he took her by surprise, and is going to fetch his leader to her now…?_

 _“Shof op, Heda,”_ came Indra’s voice, low and slurred and yet still able to express her disapproval perfectly. Lexa whirled, eyebrows raised; the draught that Clarke had given the beta should have been enough to guarantee several more hours of uninterrupted sleep, and yet her general was struggling to sit up, reaching for a cup of water set on a low table by her side.

Lexa hurried over to assist her, placing a hand gently but firmly on Indra’s uninjured shoulder and pressing her back into the bedding. “Stay, _lukot,”_ she said, putting a gentle hint of alpha command in her voice—not enough to coerce Indra, but enough to make it clear that it was an order. The older woman gave an ill-tempered grunt, but settled herself back onto the pallet. As a compromise, Lexa hustled over to her own trunk and fetched another pillow, slotting it under Indra’s shoulders and allowing the beta to recline in a more upright posture.

“You should be resting,” she said when this was done. “Are you in pain? Should I fetch you –”

 _“Em pleni, Heda,”_ Indra said brusquely, freezing her in place with a sharp look. “You need to decide what you are going to do about that omega.”

Lexa froze. _What does she—no. She can't mean..._

“And before you ask me _what omega,_ I mean _Klark kom Skaikru.”_

The alpha’s blood had been boiling since they had first laid eyes on the massacre, but now it abruptly went cold. “ _Chit yu mana,_ Indra?” she said carefully, but with enough strength in her voice to let Indra know she was in no mood to play games. However, the general seemed to be in enough pain that Lexa’s subtle attempt at intimidation had little effect.

“You know what I mean, _Heda,”_ she said, letting her head loll back against the pillow with a sigh. “The only reason _Skaikru_ are still alive is because she was able to calm you. And the only way she could have done so is if—”

“Don't say it,” Lexa said warningly, but with a hint of desperation in her tone. Was it truly that obvious? If it was, they were in more danger than she'd imagined. Once word got around her Coalition that their Commander was mated to one of the enemy, one of the people who'd massacred three hundred warriors sent to protect them, they'd be calling for her head. And once she was dead, there would be nothing standing between Clarke and the righteous fury of her people.

Indra seemed to glean some of this, because the look she fixed on Lexa was shrewd, but not without sympathy. “I do not say this to be cruel, _Heda,_ but because others will be. I knew that you had been…involved…with her in some capacity, as did many others.” Lexa blushed, remembering how they’d at first attempted to keep their relationship discreet, when it had been just about sex, about the pull of curiosity and scent and an unscratched itch, nothing more. But it had evolved so quickly beyond that that it left Lexa wondering if it had ever truly been about that at all. There was something within Clarke that pulled at her on a bone-deep level, as though they had magnets hidden in their skeletons that couldn’t help seeking each other out. It wasn’t something Lexa tried to dwell on, because she knew that the whims of fate could be strange and often cruel, but she couldn’t help thinking it: something in the way they were drawn to each other felt like destiny.

“ _Heda.”_ Indra's voice, a little sharper than usual, drew her from her trance, the unspoken _pay attention_ hanging between them. “It has clearly gone beyond that, has it not?”

All Lexa could do was look at her, petrified, frozen between the intense desire of her alpha to publicly claim Clarke as her _niron,_ as her mate, and to declare to all the world that she was under the Commander's protection, and anyone who attacked her was attacking Lexa; and the knowledge that love was weakness, and to admit that you had one was to put a target on the other. The silence she maintained was better protection than any she could physically provide, but she couldn’t help but feel, as she gazed at Indra's knowing face, that it was also something of a betrayal.

The silence stretched taut with Lexa’s panic until Indra let out a quiet sigh. “We here are all loyal to you, _Heda,”_ the beta said, “and I know that I do not need to remind you, of all people, the consequences of allowing your heart to reside outside your body. Although it appears it may already be too late for that,” she said, meeting Lexa’s stricken look with a wry grin. But a moment later it dropped away, and Indra’s voice and face were beseeching. “All I ask is that you do not let your feelings prevent you from doing your duty, and bringing my people justice.”

“They won't,” Lexa swore, rage beginning to rise crimson in her again, filling the hole left in her by Clarke’s absence. “Indra, I swear it on my _Hedon,_ on the Spirit that chose me and lives within me and will carry me on after my death. Those who did this will pay.”

The beta nodded, and Lexa could see a load of tension leave her body as she sank back into the pillows, eyes closing. Alarmed, Lexa leaned in to check her breathing, but found Indra’s chest rising and falling steadily in sleep. “ _Reshop, gona,”_ she murmured, then stood and resumed her circuit around the tent.

As the night moved on, it became more and more difficult to keep from giving up and simply storming Arkadia. In this state, she felt like she could do it all on her own. Her skin would become as steel as her sword, her whole body transmuted into a weapon. It felt like her alpha was a separate thing inside of her, a beast raging in the cage of her ribs, roaring to get out, to get to Clarke, to rip apart anyone who tried to stop her. It took every ounce of self-control within her to keep from doing so, to continue pacing her endless circles around and around the tent, to let the moon continue in its course.

Just when she was about certain that she would have to either sound the attack or risk going mad, one of her guards stuck his head into the tent. “ _Heda, em kom daun.”_

He didn't have to say who. Clarke was already stepping into the tent, and it took the last shreds of self-control Lexa possessed to keep from rushing forward immediately and crushing Clarke to her chest. “ _Bants,”_ she barked at the guard, unnecessarily; he was already leaving. Lexa spared Indra a brief glance before deciding to dispense with propriety. The beta already knew, anyway.

So she surged forward, throwing her arms around Clarke and pulling their bodies flush. The sensation of Clarke's curves pressed against her own, Clarke's scent filling her nose, the warmth of Clarke's breaths against her neck reminded her that her mate was here, alive, returned to her, that the terrible visions in her head of Clarke captive, executed, lying discarded among the slain, were no more than waking nightmares conjured by her overwrought brain. It did not diminish the pain and fury when she thought of the hill of her dead, but the relief she experienced was bone-deep. Everything had felt _wrong_ before, the world strange and terrible, like a monster disguised as a friend that had only just revealed its true form. But with Clarke in her arms, she felt that maybe, someday, that monster could be defeated, and the world could become right again.

 _“Clarke,”_ she breathed into the omega's hair once she could speak again. There was no answer, just the feeling of Clarke's hands fisting themselves tighter in the back of her jacket. Then her chest hitched against Lexa's, her breath unfurling in a quiet sob, and the alpha felt a spike of cold fear lance through her. Even though part of her cried out against it, she pulled away from Clarke, leaning back to rake her eyes over her mate's body. “What's wrong? Are you hurt? What happened?”

Tears glittered in the corners of Clarke's eyes, and Lexa's own chest ached in sympathy, but then the omega shook her head. One brush of a sleeve across her face and they were gone, replaced by an exhausted determination that Lexa counted herself far too familiar with. “I spoke to Bellamy.”

The events of the day had been held at bay by Lexa's relief that Clarke was safe, but hearing the _Skaikru_ alpha's name brought them roaring back. She felt the mask of _Heda_ settle over her features again, the restlessness in her blood beginning to nip at her once more, and she resumed her pacing, back and forth in front of Indra and the fire. She and Clarke regarded one another for a long moment, the silence heavy with the weight of what they both knew: that Clarke had not found there to be any misunderstanding, and that Lexa's laws dictated that _Skaikru_ must die for what had happened here. A sickening understanding clawed at Lexa's chest. If she did not avenge the dead, she would no longer be worthy of her _Hedon._ And if she did…she would never be able to repair the rift it would create between Clarke and herself.

“So, what's it going to be, Clarke?” Lexa said at last, the emotions at war within her roughening her voice. “How does this end? Have you come up with a way to save your people yet again?” Her words had a harsh, mocking edge, and it was only partially unintentional. How could Clarke expect to plead for the lives of those who had murdered her own, in cold blood? What could she possibly say?

“No,” Clarke said dully. “Only you can do that.”

Lexa kept her face neutral, allowing _Heda_ to turn her features to stone and obscure the war of emotions taking place within her. She knew that was not all, and a moment later her prediction was borne out when Clarke began to pace.

“What happened here was an act of war,” the omega said heavily. Her eyes flicked back and forth from her boots to meet Lexa’s, but they didn't stay for long. “Your army was here to protect us, and my people slaughtered them. You have every right to wipe us out.”

Lexa had to bite her tongue over a sharp retort: _You're not doing a very good job of convincing me not to._ Clarke met her eyes for a longer moment, as though waiting for such a response, but when none was forthcoming, she continued. “I’m not asking you to let this massacre go unavenged. I'm not asking you to deny your people justice. What I'm asking you for…is time.”

The Commander’s eyes narrowed. “Time for what? I thought you already discovered the truth. Now there is only time for a reckoning.”

Clarke shook her head, her flat affect giving way to a look of barely-concealed desperation. “Time to make that reckoning happen the right way.” The sharp tang of Clarke's stress stung more fervently now in Lexa's nose, and her alpha ached to offer comfort, to quell her mate's fears, but she held herself firm.

“You could just go down to the gate in the morning and demand that they send out Pike, and Bellamy, and everyone who was with him last night,” Clarke said. Her eyes were steadier when they met Lexa's, and her voice was firmer.

 _This is_ Wanheda, Lexa realized. _This is the omega who led her people when they first came to the ground._ Clarke's was a persuasive power, suggestive instead of overbearing, but no less strong for all that.

“But if you do that, it will show Arkadia that you don’t truly believe us to be one of your Coalition.”

“ _Skaikru_ rejected my Coalition,” Lexa hissed, baring her teeth. _I risked my life, and my_ Hedon, _in order to offer them entry as the Thirteenth Clan, and this is how they repay me,_ she thought but did not say. Her life was of no consequence, and her position as _Heda_ was automatically forfeit if her Clans no longer trusted her decisions. The thought was unworthy of her, and she quelled it.

“They didn’t understand what it meant,” Clarke said. “They wouldn’t give my mom and Kane time to explain. They listened to Pike when he said that your army was the same as the Grounders who’d attacked Mount Weather because they were scared, and they voted him in as Chancellor because he made them believe that he could protect them. And they _still_ believe it. Even if they’re willing to surrender him to your judgement, they will still believe it. Where you see justice, they'll only see savagery. Nothing will have changed.”

“If that’s so,” Lexa said, a low growl underlying her tone, “explain to me why I should not just gather the armies of the Twelve Clans and raze Arkadia to the ground? If, as you say, they will continue to view me as a savage warlord, and see the neighboring Clans as enemies, why should I not give them the war they voted for?”

There was an odd mix of urgency and satisfaction in Clarke's scent that gave Lexa pause. She cocked her head, staring at her mate, trying to figure out where she would take her argument, but the omega gave no sign. “My people voted for Pike as Chancellor—the man who ordered the massacre, and executed it,” Clarke said, disgust curling her lip as she spoke his name. “That means there was a majority of them who wanted him as their leader. But I _know_ there were plenty who didn’t vote for him, and even more who don’t condone what he did, and are probably regretting their vote. But those people are still ignorant, still afraid, and they’ll stand with Pike if it comes to a fight. Better the _kripa_ you know than the one you don’t, _nami?”_ Lexa found herself fighting the impulse to nod.

“That's why I’m asking you for time,” Clarke said, her voice growing stronger. She took a step closer, and Lexa's entire body stiffened in an effort not to echo her. “Time to change hearts and minds. Time to make my people understand that you’re here as a protector, not as a conqueror. Time to make it so that when you _do_ come to our gates, _Skaikru_ will yield Pike to your justice of their own accord, and pledge their fealty to you.”

Clarke's words were persuasive, and her scent even more so. Lexa began to pace once more, her steps leading her away from the omega where she might have a clearer head. But she could see the wisdom in Clarke's words beyond their seductiveness, and the urgent belief in her scent that she could accomplish this. She felt the tug of her own desire to believe it too…but she could not accept it without question. “If Pike is the issue, why not just have Bellamy assassinate him?” Lexa said, turning back to face her mate. “Cut off the head, and the whole snake dies.”

Clarke shook her head. “It won’t bring the change we need. A coup will result in a change of leadership, but everyone who didn’t support Pike will instantly be suspect. No one will be willing to listen to my mom or Kane or me in that case. My people will sink deeper into their fear and paranoia, and they’ll elect another Pike, or someone worse.”

Lexa snorted, privately wondering what could be _worse_ than someone who committed a massacre of three hundred allies, but she didn’t say it.

“So, then, a revolution from the inside,” Lexa said, and Clarke nodded. “You work to change the opinions of your people about mine until—what? They rise up against Pike and depose him themselves?”

“The change comes from within. I know you want peace,” Clarke said, stepping closer, her voice and scent beseeching. “And yet everything seems to lead back to war. Make an example of my people. Show your Clans what can happen when you practice restraint, and allow us to bring justice of our own accord. Instead of yet another war, give us the time to make a lasting peace.”

She wanted it. _Keryon,_ how she wanted it. It was everything she’d fought for, since she’d begun her work to unite the Coalition against the Mountain. It was what she’d bullied, bargained, and gone to war to achieve. What she had given up her vengeance for Costia for. That had been the hardest thing she’d ever done, to watch Nia walk into her throne room, accept her fealty, and allow her to leave with her life. By the laws of her people, _her_ laws, she was entitled to vengeance for Costia’s death, and her alpha had roared within her to avenge the loss—but she had suppressed it. She’d kept her face like stone, and she had accepted Nia’s oaths, delivered with a smirk and a mocking tone, and she had sent her on her way as a member of the Coalition.

So while that had been the hardest thing Lexa had ever done, she had proven that she could do it—could put aside her own feelings for the good of her people, in the interest of peace. But _Skaikru_ did not only have to answer to her for what they had done. They had to answer to all of _Trikru._ She shared her people’s grief, but that was unimportant. She was meant to be the instrument of their justice. While her heart yearned to accept what Clarke offered, how could she return to Polis and tell her people that they must defer their vengeance, that they must be _patient?_

_“Jus drein, jus daun.”_

The voice was Indra's, low and full of pain. Lexa and Clarke turned to her together, to see her struggling to raise herself onto her elbows. She looked haggard and exhausted, but her eyes were bright with conviction, flickering between the two of them like a flame. “That has always been our way. If death has no cost, life has no worth.”

“Is it worth killing all of us just because it’s your _way?”_ Clarke said beseechingly, glancing back at Lexa as she did. “From what I’ve seen, that just means more violence, more war…and the only way it ends is with everyone dead.”

“There will be no war if _Skaikru_ are wiped out,” Indra snarled, “the way my people were!”

“Or you could show the world a better way,” Clarke said, turning back to Lexa, apparently having given Indra up as a lost cause. “You could show forbearance. You could show your people a better way, the beginning of the road to peace.”

“Everything I have done has been for peace,” Lexa hissed, rounding on Clarke. “It’s your people who have started a war. Is letting a massacre go unavenged your _better way?”_

“If it ends the cycle of violence, yes,” Clarke said simply. “If it shows my people, and by extension the world, that you’re willing to be patient in pursuit of justice, then yes. This could be the moment that defines you as a leader. This could be the beginning of your story, the legend of how you became the Commander of Peace.”

Both of them turned to look at Lexa, as though only just now noticing her silence. The alpha knew her face to look like stone, but it masked an inner war, one that would eventually show…and she could not have that. She turned away from both of them as she considered, her breaths coming quick and shallow, feeling herself on the edge of a precipice.

Clarke had unknowingly cut straight to the heart of how she felt about her people’s way of life, a way of life that she was sworn, as Commander of the Blood, to uphold. But so far that way had only brought blood and death—a never-ending war of aggression, retaliation, and more retaliation… Clans like _Azgeda_ and _Trikru_ bordered one another, their territories always in flux as each side lashed out for land, or for revenge, or for some age-old slight of which no one now living could remember anything but the rage it engendered.

That had been the sort of thing she had sought to curb through her Coalition. In the process of its formation, she had traveled through her lands, getting the heads of Clans who would have killed each other as soon as spoken to one another to sit down at her table, learning what each would require in order to end decades-old blood feuds, and forcing compromises that neither side liked, but that both could accept. Through diplomacy, deceit, and, when necessary, sheer brute force, she had brought them all to heel, but that had first required dealing out whatever each Clan sought as justice. That had meant executions, coups, assassinations…simply more war, more death. And to what end?

She was tired, so tired. And here was Clarke, promising her another way, a better way. One in which a Clan that had murdered would bring itself to justice, turning upon the diseased members of its ranks and driving them out like an infection. And then she could take the traitor Pike, and make an example of him, him and those who had gone with him. Together, they would bleed for the three hundred warriors they’d slaughtered, would suffer as their families would, and justice would be done…and then, perhaps, she could rest.

 _“Heda,_ you cannot be considering this,” Indra said, her voice filled with a quiet desperation that broke Lexa's heart. She had lost so much…her villagers, to Finn's rampage, and then her village, to the _Maunon's_ missile... And now, she was being asked to let the slaughter of nearly all the warriors in her territory go unavenged. Indra was truly a loyal soldier and vassal, but her loyalties had been tested hard and often… And no matter how true someone was, all bonds of loyalty could be broken if enough strain was put upon them.

 _But I have to do this. Clarke's right… What am I Commander for, if not to bring peace to my subjects?_ All _of my subjects._

Lexa sighed, letting her shoulders drop, and then turned back to Clarke and Indra. “I’m not considering it,” she said, each word falling from her lips grave as a stone. The omega’s face and scent burned with desperation, but the beta only stared. “I’m doing it,” she declared, and felt the weight of the phrase settle on her shoulders like a weighty new world.

The smell of Clarke’s relief brightened the tent instantly, as though a sun had risen inside of it, but it mingled harshly with Indra’s disbelief. _“Heda,_ please!” the beta said, making to sit up, before her wounds forced her to lie down again with a wince and a pained huff.

Lexa turned to her general, stepping closer, allowing her scent, her presence, her power as an alpha to unfurl so that it filled the tent. “Indra, I don't intend to let the ones who did this to your people—to _my_ people—go unpunished,” she said, “but _Skaikru_ are my people too. The one who was their leader at the time swore an oath of fealty, and wears my mark, as you do. So despite the fact that they have a new leader now, one who has poisoned them against me, I owe them my justice as well. I cannot simply wipe them out because of the actions of a few.” Her voice grew stronger as her conviction did, each word a bright spark on her tongue, a burning flame in her mind. That sensation, above all else, brought her greater and greater certainty that she was choosing the right way.

_The Flame hears me, and the Flame agrees._

Indra shook her head, looking as though she could not quite believe what she was hearing. “Polis will not stand for this, _Heda,”_ she said. “Titus—”

“Titus is my subject,” Lexa snarled. “They are _all_ my subjects! Do you say he will defy me?” she said, lowering her voice and taking a step closer to Indra. She knew her alpha pheromones, and the subtle command layering her voice, were having an effect on Indra, because she could see the beta shaking. She hated to use her abilities in such a way, but she could see no other option. “Will you defy me, Indra?”

The beta locked eyes with her, and Lexa could sense her probing at the edges of Lexa's wall of pheromones and will. But she kept it iron-hard, knowing that no one—with the exception of Clarke, whose mating mark she wore—would be able to defy it. After a long moment, Indra sighed, dropping her gaze to the furs beneath Lexa's boots. “No, _Heda._ I will not.”

“Then let it be known,” Lexa said, her voice ringing with command. _“Ai laik Heda, en disha ste ai hedon. Jus drein nou jus daun.”_ She strode briskly to the entrance of the tent, calling for a rider to carry her message back to the capitol and inform the delegates gathering there of her decision – _of your betrayal,_ a voice whispered in her mind, sounding much like Titus. But despite her haste, she missed neither the look of deep-seated relief on Clarke's face, nor the empty, dejected look on Indra's.

 ***

“I will need to return to the Capitol,” Lexa said, once the initial flurry of activity had passed. Riders had been dispatched, both to the nearest villages to warn them against approaching Arkadia, and a cart had arrived to take Indra to the closest healer, as the meager supplies the delegation had brought with them would not be enough to prevent her wounds from becoming infected and likely killing her. Now, for the first time since they’d arrived at the killing field, Clarke and Lexa were alone, together. It was the first time since the slaughter that Lexa felt like she had taken a breath.

“My council will want an accounting of what has happened here, and I am sure they will be eager to have their chance to decry my decision,” Lexa said, with a dry attempt at humor. It didn’t land. Clarke only nodded, worrying at her lip and avoiding eye contact. Lexa sucked in a breath, bolstering her courage—because of course she could make a decision that would quite literally shake the foundations of her world, but she couldn’t talk to one exhausted omega—and then stepped closer, laying a hand on Clarke's shoulder. But when her mate's beautiful blue eyes turned to meet hers, she found herself lost. There was a hurricane of emotions sweeping through her—love, pain, loss, fear, hope—and mere words were swept away in the torrent.

And of course, what would she say? _Are you all right? What's wrong?_ The answers to those questions were obvious: _No,_ and _Everything._ Yet while guilt tore at her insides to realize it, the fact that Clarke was here with her, alive and unhurt—physically at least—made her burn with relief.

“What's going to happen to me?” Clarke asked. The question was so potently not what Lexa had expected that the alpha pulled her head back, frowning in concern.

“What do you mean?”

Clarke shrugged. “Well, I was supposed to be staying at Arkadia, but I can’t now, unless I want them to lock me up and maybe execute me for treason.”

A growl ripped itself from Lexa's chest before she could stop it, and Clarke looked at her with a raised eyebrow. The Commander coughed. “My apologies. Please continue.”

Clarke nodded absently, as though she'd already forgotten Lexa's brief moment of rudeness. “So…am I going back to Polis with you? In what capacity? Am I still the _Skaikru_ ambassador? _Is_ there still a _Skaikru_ ambassador?” Lexa nodded, throat feeling thick. “Or am I a prisoner?” Clarke asked, turning her gaze fully on the alpha in a strange mixture of defiance and resignation.

Lexa felt a flash of revulsion pulse through her at the thought. “No!” she said loudly, then amended her tone when the omega flinched. “No, you're not a prisoner, Clarke. You are free to do as you like, but I could use your help as ambassador in Polis. You can explain the plans you’ve put into motion better than I can, and…” She shrugged helplessly, knowing it would not do anything to convince the stubborn, fearless Clarke Griffin if her mind was already made up, but needing to try anyway. “It will be safer for you, under my protection.”

But Clarke was already nodding, the flash of spirit she'd displayed gone. “All right, then.”

Lexa had her hands full trying to conceal the fact that her heart had leaped in her chest. When she'd mastered herself, she said, “You should rest, Clarke.”

The circumstances were far different, but the words echoed a time past, one that stung both of them with bittersweetness. The corners of Lexa's mouth quirked upward, but whether it was in a smile or a grimace, she couldn’t be certain. To dissipate the tension of the shared moment, Lexa offered awkwardly, “I had my attendants bring a spare tent in the wagon…just in case.”

Clarke nodded, but did not look particularly pleased about this prospect, and a moment later the thought of Clarke alone in a cold tent, the dark and her demons pressing down around her, was intolerable to Lexa. “You could also stay here,” she said, just shy of blurting, and Clarke's head snapped up at that. Lexa tried to keep herself from trembling at what she saw in the omega's eyes. “The furs are perfectly comfortable,” she faltered, “if you’d like the bed…or…”

“Could I stay with you?” Clarke rasped, her voice husky with suppressed tears and _Keryon,_ she looked so _tired_ that Lexa didn’t think she had the strength to refuse her anything. “Just…to sleep,” Clarke clarified hastily, and Lexa nodded.

“Of course.”

After an awkward pause, they moved as one to the bed. Methodically, they stripped off their coats and boots, and Lexa had to wonder at the mundanity of it—as though they had never stopped doing this, had never had a reason. Then she drew aside the furs, revealing the clean expanse of mattress, and after a moment's hesitation, slid across it. But she continued holding the covers up, her entire being filled with a trembling hope, and after a moment spent considering, Clarke took what was being offered.

Lexa thought she might spend the entire night looking at Clarke and shaking with fear and love, but they both sank into sleep rather quickly, wrapped in a blanket of the only thing that could possibly bring them peace, after all they’d done and seen: their mate's scent.


	15. the universe don't wait for you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I know it's been about half of forever, so sorry about that... It's just been kind of a hard time for me, in a bunch of ways. I've been trying to refocus on a smaller amount of projects, and make certain that the ones I'm working on currently get done with some measure of speed and quality. So while I can't promise a return to the regular once-a-week schedule, I'm going to try to make at least biweekly updates on this fic. Don't worry, I haven't forgotten Young Gods - it's still my baby. My cranky, colicky, demanding, keeps-me-up-at-night baby. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter - the beginning of a brief calm before we get right back to the storm. Also, HOW FREAKING AWESOME is this cover art??? It was done by the amazing @green78, who does incredible work - both edits and her own fics! Go check her out. And as always, let me know what you think in the comments and on tumblr @n1ghtwr1ter. 
> 
> [](http://s558.photobucket.com/user/calfaolan/media/green78%20-%20young%20gods%20cover_zpsi9hmjfrz.jpg.html)   
> 

Clarke woke warm, wrapped in a blanket of furs and scent that was utterly and completely comforting. It told her, in no uncertain terms, that she was _safe._ It was the first time she could remember feeling that way since she had fallen asleep in Lexa’s arms the night before the battle at Mount Weather, her mating bite still fresh on her neck. Abruptly, Clarke realized that those same arms were around her now, warm and strong and holding her close, tight but not smothering. Slowly, she raised her head from where it had been pillowed against a firm, muscular chest, and looked up into Lexa’s eyes.

 _“Os sonop, niron,”_ the alpha murmured, face breaking into a shy smile that Clarke couldn’t help but return. “I was going to let you rest longer, but I feared that you might sleep for another month if I did, and we must get on the road soon.”

“I might have,” Clarke admitted, feeling sleep continue to tug at her eyelids, but she knew Lexa was right. It wasn’t safe for them to remain here, though Clarke couldn’t help but wish they could just stay here in the soft pile of furs for a little longer, and pretend the world outside did not exist. With a grumpy growl, she attempted to burrow further back beneath the covers, and to regain the use of her inadvertent pillow – much to said pillow’s amusement.

“We can’t, Clarke,” Lexa said, the laughter in her voice rumbling through her chest and making Clarke smile. When the omega only growled again and tried to retreat further, Lexa reached under her arms and tugged her gently but firmly back to the surface. Although Clarke pouted, she couldn’t maintain the expression for long in the face of her mate’s gentle smile. The only response that seemed appropriate was to lean up and meet the lovely curve of those lips with her own.

The kiss started out chaste, both of them merely only tasting the relief and happiness on each other’s lips, but soon one of them nipped and the other gasped and then they were a tumult of licks and gentle bites and tugs, and hands that searched and pressed close. Clarke rolled them so that she was firmly astride Lexa, their bodies fitted seamlessly to one another. She could feel a fire igniting under her skin to have this alpha – _her_ alpha – _her Lexa_ – so near to her, touching her, growling with need and hunger for her –

 _“Clarke,”_ Lexa gasped, and she abruptly pulled away, about to ask what was wrong, when –

_Oh. Right._

“As…much as I am enjoying this,” the Commander panted, still struggling to gain control of her breathing, “if we are to make Polis by sundown, we must…”

“Right, of course,” Clarke muttered. Fighting off an urge to grind against the slowly swelling bulge she could feel beneath her, she clambered off Lexa, scooting away so quickly that she fell out of the bed with a thump.

“Clarke, are you all right?” Lexa said, her concern burning sharply in the omega’s nose, and Clarke nodded vigorously.

“Yeah, I’m fine. But are you gonna be fine, with…?” She gestured awkwardly at the slight tent in the furs covering the alpha’s lower half. Lexa’s blush set off her own, and they stood there for a long moment, blushing at each other, torn between mortification and amusement.

At last Lexa said, “Yes, I will… I’m certain it’s nothing some very cold water won’t fix.”

Clarke nodded, struggling against a sudden urge to run away. “Yeah, that sounds…well, not good, but…”

Lexa let out a noise that hadn't decided whether it was a laugh or a cough. “Right. Yes, well…” She trailed off, and they were both left staring at each other in a silence pregnant with all they were not yet prepared to say. Clarke's tongue felt thick in her mouth, and her eyes struggled not to crawl down Lexa's body to where the furs covered the gently swelling bulge between her mate's legs. _Too late. Shit._

“I’ll, uh, let you go,” Clarke said lamely, “and take care of that.” Lexa's flush deepened, and the omega abruptly realized how that had sounded. “I didn’t mean it like that! I mean, unless you were planning to…like that…”

The Commander shook her head. “It's fine, Clarke. I won’t be long.”

Clarke nodded and then ducked out of the tent, cheeks flaming. An instant later, however, her mortification seemed insignificant, even inappropriate, faced with the scene at hand: the vast field of the dead, steam beginning to rise from the corpses as the day slowly warmed. The sight stole her breath, and the bubble of happiness that had slowly been rising in her chest at the way the day had begun sank into her stomach like a stone. For god's sake, they had been kissing and cuddling and…flirting awkwardly…when maybe three hundred feet away, an army of slaughtered warriors lay unburied, their families as yet uninformed that there was someone to mourn…

“Clarke.”

Lexa's voice made her jump a bit before spinning around. The alpha was rubbing water droplets from her face with a soft rag, looking much clearer-headed than before. Clarke couldn’t prevent her eyes from flicking downward, but there was no sign of Lexa's ardor pressing at the seam of her pants. Willing herself not to blush again, she wrenched her gaze back up to meet Lexa's. _God, what is wrong with me? A massacre took place here not even two days ago, and I’m acting like I’m in heat again._ To cover her embarrassment, Clarke said, “What's going to happen to…to the bodies? It's been cool recently, but they’ll start to decompose in earnest soon.”

Lexa nodded. “We don’t have the numbers to burn them ourselves, so we'll have to leave their disposal to your people,” she said somberly. “I've sent riders to the local villages telling them to keep away. It will be hard on them to be unable to observe the proper rites for their family members, but I don’t want anyone else shot because they strayed too close to Arkadia.”

Clarke nodded, guilt boiling in her gut. She knew that the massacre had been the work of a few, but that her people would elect someone who would commit such an atrocity… She hadn’t thought it possible, but the evidence lay dead and slowly rotting in the field before them. Resentment lay heavily upon her also as she looked out upon the dead, and then beyond, to Arkadia, where their murderers slept. _Enjoy your rest,_ she thought grimly. _When I return, your days of peaceful sleep are numbered._

***

“So, what now?” Clarke found herself asking, as they began the daylong journey back to Polis. She and Lexa were riding at the head of the column, only the backs of their outriders several horse-lengths away between them and the road ahead. Clarke waited for several seconds, but when Lexa still did not respond to the simple question, the omega turned to look at her curiously.

The Commander appeared to be in the middle of a debate with herself, fiddling with her horse's reins and chewing her lip nervously. When she felt Clarke's eyes on her, she turned at last, but her gaze wouldn’t meet Clarke's for long – her eyes kept sliding away, and Clarke thought she detected a faint blush coloring her mate's cheekbones. Now it was Clarke’s turn to look away, swallowing a grin at Lexa’s adorable awkwardness. When she looked back, however, it seemed that the Commander had come to a decision.

“It is not a long journey between Polis and Arkadia, not when traveling as light as we are,” Lexa said slowly. “Barring any unforeseen complications, the rider that I sent upon seeing the…” she paused, swallowing hard – “massacre…will have reached the city by now, and others will have been dispatched to recall the Ambassadors to my council. However, it will be at least a day before they all return, and…” The alpha paused again, and now Clarke was sure of it – she was _definitely_ blushing. “You mentioned that you wished you had seen more of Polis before you left, and I was thinking we might take tomorrow to explore the city.”

Lexa’s eyes dropped once more to the reins in her hands, but when she looked up again Clarke was beaming at her. Her eyes widened, looking confused and even a little bit frightened, but Clarke kept smiling so hard it hurt. “That sounds amazing,” she said, when the tightness in her chest had eased enough for her to speak. “After everything that’s happened…” _The vote of no confidence, the fight with Roan, and now this…_ It was almost too much, and she turned away when she felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

And yet…was it so wrong to seize a little bit of happiness in the midst of all this pain and death, when the opportunity presented itself? Were _they_ wrong for wanting to do so, wanting to take a day to pretend that everything was right with the world?

 _We’re not_ , Clarke decided, biting her lip fiercely against tears of guilt and determination. _We need this. We_ deserve _it, after all that we’ve been through, all that we’ve had to do…_ Memories of charred bodies, twisted and burned beyond recognition, rose to the surface of her mind, choking her. _No,_ she thought angrily, forcing them back and swallowing down the bile that was searing at the back of her throat. _One day. Just one day, without all this. One day to pretend like we don’t have a war to fight, one that’ll put us on opposite sides… One day to pretend that we're not_ Heda _and_ Wanheda, _just Lexa and Clarke, just two normal girls in love…_

Her own thoughts shocked her. Was that truly how she felt about Lexa, about the woman who was, for better or worse, her mate? She knew that she had loved Lexa once, before the Mountain, but not even a month ago if she had been asked, Clarke would have said that she hated her. And yet, she thought, darting a glance at the alpha by her side, had she ever truly stopped loving Lexa? _Can you love someone_ and _hate them at the same time?_ She didn’t have the answer. But she did know that if they truly had been those normal girls they were going to pretend to be today, they never would have wound up in the situation they were now. _And I know that I would never have stopped loving her._

***

To Clarke's mild surprise, the rest of the journey passed smoothly and without incident. Unburdened by wagons or ceremony, they reached Polis by late afternoon under the curtain of a light spring drizzle, their horses' hooves clattering carefully over the slick cobblestones. Aside from a few people flitting quickly from overhang to overhang, the streets were largely deserted, and Clarke was treated yet again to a side of the city she hadn’t seen before. She stared around wonderingly at the ghostly hulks of storehouses, the smaller humps of cottages and sloped shoulders of shops rising from the mist as they passed, then sinking back into grey nothingness at an eerie rate. The atmosphere of the entire tableau made the hairs rise on the back of her neck, but she could not deny that there was also a haunting beauty to the city at rest, sleeping through the rain.

They arrived at the stables under Polis tower thoroughly drenched, and although the day lacked the biting cold of winter, it still wasn’t comfortable to be outside with their clothes soaked through. Clarke had just started to shiver by the time they rode through the heavy barn gates, but as soon as she did she was bathed in warmth. The stables were always kept warm enough for the health of the horses, on Lexa's orders.

Clarke dismounted stiffly and handed her reins to a waiting omega groom, then turned to watch as Lexa swung gracefully off her great grey stallion. Instead of giving away the reins, however, she slipped the bit out of his mouth and slung the leather loop over his neck as a makeshift lead. He didn’t seem to need it, though – as soon as he was free of the majority of his bridle, he dropped his head and followed her tamely. Lexa walked him all the way to his stall at the end of the row and let him into its spacious confines, murmuring to him and rubbing his neck and shoulder all the while.

Clarke's heart clenched as she watched the tender way her mate dealt with the animal, even though he was several thousand pounds larger than she and could easily cave her skull in with his hoof. But she handled him carefully and with utter kindness, guiding him gently where she wanted him and keeping up a constant stream of encouraging babble, like one might with a toddler just taking his first steps.

Without her knowledge, Clarke's hand had come to rest upon her abdomen, and begun rubbing unconscious circles. The moment she realized it she snapped her hand into her pocket, glancing around furtively to see if anyone had noticed, but Lexa had disappeared into the stall with the grey and the rest of the grooms were occupied with their work. The omega sighed, her panic subsiding to a low hum of worry, like a knotted muscle at the back of her neck.

The truth was, she didn’t know how much longer she could go without anyone noticing her pregnancy. Her generous hips and curves had absorbed a lot of the weight, and she had been careful to eat just enough to keep her pups healthy, but not enough to grow humongous right off the bat. But she was carrying a litter of three, and while some omegas were known to carry four or five, and once in a blue moon even _six,_ her shape couldn’t hide the extra cargo forever.

And then there was the matter of her clothing. While the outfits Lexa had provided her with upon her arrival to Polis were well-made and, she had noticed, cut with subtle generosity in the waist and chest, the fact remained that they were made for a woman who wasn’t pregnant. And while her struggle to survive in the wilderness, her harrowing journey to Polis, and the political thicket she had been thrown into the moment she arrived had allowed her to keep her focus, for the most part, on pretty much everything else – _the proud alpha sinking to her knees, her eyes wide and full of nothing but love and trust, the gasp she'd let out when Clarke had pressed her cheek to the gentle swell of her stomach –_

The memory's swift, relentless onset had Clarke struggling to push back tears, to wrench her thoughts away from what her pregnancy meant for her and Lexa – _a second chance, a family, a home –_ and instead on the immediate problems she had to deal with. Specifically, the worryingly decreasing space between her waistline and her waistband. She was going to need to do something about that, or the revelation of her pregnancy might happen before she had planned. _Not that I actually have a plan. Not that any of this was planned…_

Lexa's soft voice interrupted the downward spiral of her thoughts. “Are you ready?” she said, gesturing towards where the elevator stood waiting to take them to the heights of the tower. The alpha's scent washed over her a moment later, singing to her of _Lexa_ and _mate_ and _home,_ and Clarke couldn’t help leaning in towards it for a few seconds, closing her eyes, drinking it in, letting it soothe her.

“Clarke, are you all right?” Lexa's soft voice came again, colored with a low note of concern, and her hand was on Clarke's elbow. The omega's eyes flicked open, and she gave her mate a sheepish grin.

“Yeah, I just… Well, I was thinking that I needed some new clothes.” She let her gaze dart quickly around the stable, taking in its occupants, and while she didn’t think anyone was deliberately snooping, she wasn’t willing to take that chance. “The, uh, _food_ in Polis has been a little too…enriching, and things aren’t fitting quite the way they used to.” She caught the edge of Lexa’s frown as the alpha started to open her mouth, and narrowed her eyes meaningfully, praying for her to get it and end this awkwardness. A moment later, a light flush crept across Lexa’s cheekbones, and Clarke let out a small sigh.

“Ah, yes,” the Commander fumbled, and Clarke had to curtail the impulse to roll her eyes. _Honestly, how dense can you be?_ “That can…that can certainly be arranged. There’s actually a tailor in town,” she said, brightening, and Clarke couldn’t help feeling her own heart lift at the eagerness her mate was clearly trying to suppress. “That’s where I get my clothes made. They do fine work, and above all…” Lexa lowered her voice. “They are discreet.”

Clarke nodded. “That sounds good.”

Lexa positively beamed at the tiny particle of praise, and now Clarke couldn’t help it – a small smile crept across her face also. As many cares and worries as she carried, a new feeling was starting to worm its way past them and into her mind also. It had been so long since she had experienced it that it took her a while to recognize it for what it was: excitement. Unlike every other day since she had arrived on the ground, tomorrow was not going to be yet another mile in the endless race for survival, and she was well and truly looking forward to the reprieve, however brief it might be.

They held each other’s gazes for a little while longer, a hiding place for just the two of them in the span of a breath. Then a sudden look of determination came into Lexa’s eyes, and her hand flashed out to gently take hold of Clarke’s. It was a utilitarian gesture, barely more than a courtesy, and the omega almost might have believed that that was all it was, but then she felt the brush of Lexa’s thumb across the back of her knuckles. As the lift groaned into motion and Lexa’s fingers remained tangled loosely with hers, Clarke realized that she felt warm, truly warm, for the first time in months.

As the creaking elevator deposited them at the penultimate floor, Lexa gave Clarke's hand a final squeeze, and then let go, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin as if in preparation for some onslaught. When the doors ground open to reveal a glowering Titus, Clarke understood. _“Heda,”_ he said, his voice and face tight with strain, but his scent betrayed something else: fear. That above all else made the hairs rise on the back of Clarke's neck. Anger and distress could be managed, but she had become all too familiar with the insanity someone could be driven to by fear of the future, of the unknown.

 _“Em pleni,”_ Lexa said, before her _Fleimkepa_ could get any further. “We will speak when we are in private, not before. Clarke…” The alpha turned back to her with a tired smile. _“Reshop, Bandrona._ I will fetch you tomorrow morning for our tour of the city.” Lexa immediately began walking in the direction of one of her smaller meeting chambers, forcing Titus to follow after her. Clarke did not miss the angry glare he threw at her over his shoulder, but she was too tired to do more than answer it with a blank stare.

When they had rounded the corner, she let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding and began to make her way to her own rooms. Compared to the barely-controlled chaos of the previous week, when the tower had been stretched to its limits trying to care for the needs of twelve – well, thirteen now, she supposed – advisors and their delegations, the place seemed eerily empty. She was incredibly grateful to sink into the hot bath that was waiting for her, to slip into the impossibly soft sleeping gown that had been laid out for her on the bed, and settle herself gratefully into the mass of furs. Her last thought before falling asleep was that she hoped Lexa got to do the same before too long…but somehow she doubted it. The cares of _Heda_ were many, and the look on Titus's face suggested that he was ready to argue all night.

Still, she couldn’t help but drift off into visions of a future in which Lexa slipped sighingly into bed beside her, and the cares of the day fell away one by one in the comfort of Clarke's arms.

***

The next morning saw her awake bright and early, brimming with nervous anticipation. Too uneasy to eat, Clarke forewent breakfast so she could spend far more time on washing and dressing than usual, humming to herself under her breath, “It's not a date… It's definitely not a date… It's a tour, not a date… Do Grounders even have dates? Whatever, it doesn’t matter. Even if they did, this wouldn’t be one of them…” However, after flinging her third rejected outfit to the floor with a curse, she was forced to admit that while this might not actually be a date, she was certainly acting like it was. She let out a loud snarl and threw herself back onto the bed, cursing herself twelve ways for an idiot. “Stupid stupid stupid stupid…”

That was the state in which Lexa found her, dressed only in her underwear and surrounded by discarded clothing, thumping her head against the covers in time with her self-derision. When she heard the door creak open, she sat bolt upright, her hand flying instinctively to cup the gentle swell of her stomach, as though she could hide it that way anymore. To her relief it was only Lexa, unaccompanied by guards or attendants, but the damage had already been done. The alpha stood frozen in place, goggling at her, mouth slightly agape. “Jesus, Lexa, don’t you knock?” Clarke growled, grasping at the nearest shirt and pair of pants and attempting to draw them on at light speed.

Lexa's mouth snapped shut and she turned away, redirecting her gaze as much as possible as Clarke wrestled with the button on her pants, growling desperately and knowing she must be providing quite the sight. “I apologize, Clarke,” the Commander stuttered, and Clarke would have enjoyed the ridiculousness of hearing _Heda_ stammer if not for the ridiculous position she herself was in. “I did knock, but it must have been softer than I thought, and then I heard snarling and cursing and I thought…”

“It's okay,” Clarke sighed, knowing that she couldn’t truly be angry at Lexa, not when her frustration was really on account of her own idiocy. Finally having managed to close the button on her pants, she let out a sigh, reaching for her shirt. “Wherever else we go is up to you, obviously, but can we _please_ make it a priority to get me some new clothes because – oh my god, Lexa, _what?”_

The Commander's gaze was fixed on her again, but instead of roaming along her entire body (with generous attention paid to her breasts and the flare of her hips), it was centered entirely on one spot: the slight curve of her stomach, made even more obvious by the way it strained against her waistband. Clarke's mouth went dry, because she knew exactly what the alpha was fixated on. She was catapulted forcibly into a memory of a night nearly a week ago, when Lexa had sunk to her knees and pledged her fealty to Clarke, and to _Skaikru –_ but of course it had been more than that. She had been promising her loyalty, and her life if necessary, to protecting her mate and the pups that grew within her, pups that _they_ had made together…

A lump rose in her throat, and she had to swallow several times before she could trust herself to speak. “Do you, um, want to…” She couldn’t get the words out, so she gestured to her stomach instead. Lexa's mouth opened and shut a couple of times, her eyes widening even further as though she couldn’t believe that Clarke had just said those words.

“…may I?”

Biting back a snarky _I just said so, didn’t I?_ Clarke nodded, and tried not to shiver too visibly as Lexa carefully stepped closer, her movements slow and fluid like Clarke was a panicky animal she was trying not to spook. Clarke had to chuckle shakily at that one under her breath, because that was pretty much exactly how she felt.

When the alpha was within touching distance, she stopped, hand hovering uncertainly just above Clarke's stomach. Overcome with a sudden wave of tenderness at Lexa's tentative air, and the mingled longing and trepidation that her scent betrayed, Clarke reached out and took her mate's hand, guiding her the last few inches until the Commander's palm was pressed flat against the gentle swell.

Both of them froze, and then sucked in a breath. Clarke could feel Lexa's warm hand trembling lightly against her skin, but as she maintained her grip, making it clear to Lexa that Clarke wanted her there, the shivers slowed and then stopped. Lexa's eyes – no, her entire being – seemed fixed on the place where her hand cupped the omega's belly, and Clarke couldn’t help but admire the way it seemed so natural, so normal, even after everything that had happened. It was enough to make her throat go tight.

Lexa took one more step closer, bringing her other hand up to cup the gentle curve, and her thumbs began stroking along Clarke's skin almost absentmindedly. Now it was the omega's turn to shiver. Lexa's head snapped up as soon as she felt the tremors, and she made as if to draw away, but Clarke shook her head, darting her a quick smile. “It's fine, seriously.”

And it was, or at least it should have been. Lexa was very close, but this certainly wasn’t the closest she'd been since before the Mountain, and she wasn’t doing anything beyond touching Clarke in a place with which she’d expressly invited contact. Lexa's scent didn’t betray any arousal or aggression – on the contrary, it actually smelled somewhat different than Clarke had ever experienced, but not unpleasantly so. It was a warm, welcoming, comforting scent, like a fire on a cold day, or the first glimpse of home after a very long journey… So why was Clarke’s heart still racing, and her stomach fluttering with –

_Oh._

Both of their heads jerked up at the same time, eyes meeting with identical expressions of astonishment and awe. The fluttering feeling in Clarke's belly ceased, and both of them stayed stock still, unwilling to miss a single second if it should return. And it did – Clarke's heart gave a powerful thump, and a moment later the sensation was back, and even stronger this time. Clarke couldn't hold back a gasp at the feeling of movement, of _life_ within her, and the emotions that flooded her chest, threatening to overwhelm her. But she was least of all prepared for the deep, bone-tingling rumble that stuttered to life in her mate’s chest.

Lexa was purring.

It was an awkward, self-conscious noise at first, and the alpha seemed startled even to be making it. But when the movements in Clarke’s stomach continued, and even seemed to intensify as a result, Lexa’s purring grew stronger until Clarke’s whole body seemed to resonate with it. But far from being an unsettling feeling, it was a deeply comforting one. It spoke to her on a bone-deep level, telling her that she was safe, and her pups were safe; her mate was here and she would protect them all; and that she had come home.

It was an instinctive decision to reach up and take hold of Lexa's face between her palms, and draw her in for a kiss; but unlike the first time Clarke had kissed her since the Mountain, it was a fully conscious one as well. When their lips met, she felt the same curl of heat deep in her belly, and the same feeling of rightness in her chest, but this time she didn’t try to fight it. Everything Lexa had done since Clarke had come to Polis had been to earn the omega's trust. She had risked her life, and her Command, for that alone, and there was still danger to both. But she had persevered in her convictions that _Skaikru_ deserved a seat on her Council as the thirteenth Clan, and she had asked nothing more than Clarke's patience and faith. And now, at last, Clarke felt that she was ready to give it wholeheartedly.

So she allowed herself to relax into the kiss, into the feeling of Lexa's lips on hers, tasting and licking and moving so gently, just as gentle as the slow rub of her palms against Clarke's belly, over the place where their pups slumbered until they were ready to be born. She allowed herself, for just that moment, not to be _Wanheda,_ or Clarke Griffin, savior of her people, but merely to be Lexa's _Klark,_ and to be at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigedasleng:
> 
> Os sonop, niron: Good morning, loved one  
> Em pleni: Enough  
> Reshop, Bandrona: Goodnight, Ambassador


	16. someone to come around and show you how

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW. AN UPDATE. HOLY SHIT. 
> 
> All I can say is sorry for the wait. I promise I am still hard at work on this project, it's just that work has been hard...and so has writing. *sigh* 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy the continued fluff. There's one more fluffy chapter after this, and then we start getting into the dangerous and shadowy world of Grounder politics! As always, let me know what you think in the comments and on tumblr @n1ghtwr1ter.
> 
> [](http://s558.photobucket.com/user/calfaolan/media/green78%20-%20young%20gods%20cover_zpsi9hmjfrz.jpg.html)  
> 

Lexa knew that she could have stayed there forever, in that moment, if she had the opportunity, but she knew that the real world would intrude sooner or later. Whether in the form of her guards coming to see where she was and whether she still wanted them shadowing her as she squired _Wanheda_ around the city, or Titus returning to hiss at her some more over her _completely and utterly unprecedented decision to turn their entire way of life – a way she was sworn to uphold – on its head_ … Either way, they would soon be forced to separate, to return to the fiction that she was _Heda_ and Clarke was _Wanheda, Bandrona kom Skaikru,_ and that was all they meant to one another. To pretend that they had not, in one night of love and passion and promise, created the lives that Lexa could feel stirring beneath her fingertips…

A wave of love and protectiveness swelled within her, and her steady purr stuttered into a growl for a moment. Clarke's head snapped up from where it had been resting against her chest, scent betraying worry, but Lexa met her mate's wide blue eyes and gently shook her head. “It's nothing, _niron,”_ she said in response to the omega's unspoken question. “I’m just thinking about tomorrow.”

“Well, don't,” Clarke said, smiling with the bittersweet impossibility of her own words. “Make today about today.”

Lexa couldn’t help but return her smile. It was a tantalizing idea, if an impossible one…but did she not owe it to Clarke, and to herself, to at least pretend? “I will try,” she said at last, unable to deny the hopefulness of Clarke’s gaze. The way her mate brightened when she said the words made her heart twinge with painful happiness. It was how she imagined Clarke might have looked before she had seen three hundred bodies burn alive, before she'd pulled a lever and watched an entire nation die screaming. Before she'd had to make the kind of choices that no one should ever have to make. The weight of a thousand cares and sorrows dropped from the corners of her eyes as they crinkled up in that smile, and Lexa felt herself fall, impossibly, even more in love with Clarke. Her heart would certainly burst soon – there was no way that so much love could be contained in her chest cavity –

_“Heda?”_

The voice was respectful, even bordering on tentative, but Lexa had to swallow back a snarl before she could say, _“Sha, Leyani?”_

Clarke made a strangled hissing sound and began struggling into her shirt, managing to pull it down over her belly before the tall, hard-faced _Azgeda_ alpha stepped into the room. Lexa had taken a certain amount of heat (mostly from Titus) about promoting her to captain of the guard after Gustus’s death, but Lexa had been adamant. Leyani had never shown signs of any loyalties other than to Polis, and to her _Heda,_ and she was the senior ranking member of the Guard. How were _Azgeda_ supposed to believe that they were truly members of the Coalition if Lexa refused to trust them as such, and give them the responsibilities and respect that they were due?

 _“Heda,_ the Guard detachment is ready to leave at your command,” the captain said. Lexa looked at her narrowly, knowing that Leyani had had strong objections to her order that she and Clarke only be shadowed as they moved through the city, not flanked by a strong contingent of her bulkiest guards, as the _Azgeda_ alpha had originally intended.

“And they know that they are to make themselves scarce?” she said, letting a hint of alpha command creep into her words. But that was one thing she appreciated about Leyani – she never needed more than just a hint.

 _“Sha, Heda,”_ the captain said, dipping her head. Lexa snorted privately. She knew that if Leyani were truly concerned about her safety, she would do precisely what she thought necessary to protect her Commander. The show of obeisance was just that – a show. Still, she would rather have a Guard captain who thought for herself than one who merely followed orders in lockstep. _Yet another philosophical disagreement that I have with Titus._

“Very well,” Lexa said, before turning back to Clarke. “Are you ready to begin your tour, Ambassador, or do you need more time to prepare?”

Clarke made an odd sound that Lexa suspected was her choking back a snicker, and then nodded. “Let me just put some boots on, _Commander,_ and I’ll be set.” Lexa was certain that Leyani did not miss the gently mocking emphasis Clarke placed on her title, but the other alpha’s face betrayed nothing.

It wasn’t long before Clarke was ready to go. Lexa had to clench her fists at her sides to prevent herself from reaching for the omega’s hand, settling instead for gesturing Clarke cordially out the door ahead of her. Clarke snorted a bit at the ridiculously formal gesture, but if Lexa wasn’t mistaken, there was the faintest hint of a rosy blush on Clarke’s cheeks as she turned to give her a small smile before leaving the room.

***

Lexa had originally fumed at herself for having spent the majority of the night before planning their tour, poring over maps of Polis and hand-plotting the most efficient routes through her capital instead of sleeping. But now, actually out on the bustling streets with Clarke (and with the vague, hulking forms of her guardsmen lurking just out of earshot), she was glad that she had come (ridiculously) prepared. The riot of noise and color in the city’s streets was ordinarily a relief after long enough spent in the cool, quiet halls of the tower, but today it felt overwhelming, a torrent of stimuli to her already overheated brain. _The plan,_ she thought, somewhat frantically. _You had a plan…_

“So, where to first, Commander?” Clarke said, turning to look at her with a smirk twitching at the corners of her mouth. “I just hope you’ve planned out a stop at that tailor you mentioned. Wouldn’t want us to get _tight_ on time…”

Her mate’s gentle teasing made her flush, but also served to focus her. _Right – Geib’s shop. Just before the northern market. We can get something to eat…_

“This way,” Lexa said, with as much authority as she could muster when she felt like a clumsy pup. They made their way into the flowing stream of traffic and were soon swept along towards the marketplace. Despite the increased hum of noise – cart wheels rattling over the cobblestones, voices haggling and jabbering excitedly and muttering grumpily, thousands of feet stomping and – Lexa found herself growing calmer in her city’s familiar bustle. She had been born into _Trikru,_ but had been brought to the capital as soon as her _shadjus_ was discovered, and in many ways it was much more home to her than the vaulting forests and wide, sweeping meadows that her kin called home. She’d been running through Polis’s wide avenues and narrow alleys, tripping and leaving black streaks from skinned knees on its cobbles, just one of a flight of little Nightblood sparrows, since she was two years old.

Lexa turned to try and explain some of this to Clarke, but instead found herself captivated by the look on the Sky girl’s face. Clarke appeared enraptured, staring at everything she could see as though she were starving and Polis were a feast, and she was trying to gather in everything at once, even though she could never hold it all. _They wouldn’t have had anything like this on the Ark,_ Lexa realized, thinking back to all the conversations she’d had with Clarke in their bed in Lexa’s tent, sleepy and sated, Lexa listening with a drowsy rapture while Clarke traced the alpha’s scars and tattoos and murmured stories of her home, stories that had seemed unbelievable… But Clarke must have felt much the same way about the ones Lexa told her of Polis, of her childhood spent running through streets packed with so many colors and flavors and sounds that would have been utterly alien in the cool darkness of space.

So Lexa let her take her time, did not try to hurry her steps, only steered her gently out of the path of a racing courier or oncoming wagon with the gentlest of touches to her elbow or the small of her back. Clarke looked, and Lexa drank in her looking as though it was the first droplets of rain after a year-long drought. In Clarke’s eyes, the familiar buildings they walked past, the familiar raucous clamor of the marketplace, the familiar wash of faces all focused on their individual goals, and with no time for them, became new again, fantastical. Through Clarke’s eyes, she was able to appreciate them for the miracles that they were:  here were people, going about their days utterly consumed by their own small problems, entirely unaware of the greater dangers of the world – living in peace.

A few people noticed them, resulting in some hastily averted stares, some smiles and bows, some whispering and murmuring – Heda _, at the side of the strange_ Bandrona kom Skaikru _with her golden hair and fair features, like but not like_ Azgeda, _but she_ _wears our braids in her hair and might almost be one of us if not for…_ But ultimately her people had their own cares and worries to attend to, their own pleasures and delights to chase, and she and Clarke were little more than curiosities to them. Lexa found it a strangely freeing experience to just be one among the crowd, not an earth-shatterer, a mountain-mover. She suspected that a large portion of this effect was due to the lack of guards hulking around her like mobile cliff faces, and was glad that she had managed to enforce her will against Leyani’s objections.

She could have watched Clarke forever, could have fought whole wars in order to make certain that the Sky girl could continue wandering through her city, drinking in its pedestrian delights, she realized abruptly that they were nearing their destination. Remembering the painful bite of her mate’s pants into her waistline, she didn’t think Clarke would appreciate being allowed to miss their appointment with the tailor. So, with a pinch of regret, she allowed her hand to settle gently on the small of the omega’s back, breaking Clarke out of her daze. The omega’s eyes snapped to hers, looking somewhat wonderstruck, and Lexa couldn’t help but smile gently at her for a moment before allowing the mask of _Heda_ to snap back down over her features, mindful of the watching eyes of her unseen guards.

“This is the shop I told you about, Clarke,” she said, steering them out of the stream of traffic and into a small alcove. A small bell attached to the top of the door jangled as they entered, and the roar of the street immediately receded, muffled by the bolts of fabric layered against the walls. Lexa let out a quick breath, and heard Clarke let out another. For all that Polis had shown itself to be a wonder, it was also overwhelming at this hour of the morning.

A moment later, a quiet voice called from the back of the shop, “I’m very sorry, but we’re closed for an appointment until further notice.”

Lexa allowed a smile to tweak at the corners of her lips before replying, “I believe that appointment is mine, Geib.”

The old omega came shuffling out from the back of the store, a large grin creasing his wrinkled features as he caught sight of her. “Ah, _Heda!_ It has been some time. You have been very busy, yes?”

Lexa sighed. _“Sha, lukot. Ai biyo moba.”_

The tailor waved away her words with a slender hand, turning to his fireplace, where a cast-iron kettle was beginning to boil. “There is no need to apologize to me. I know that _Heda’s_ life is always an interesting one, and we live in interesting times… Armies march, ancient enemies become allies, lovely young omegas fall from the sky…” Geib’s gaze was on Clarke when he looked up from pouring the tea, and Lexa saw a gentle flush creep across her mate’s features at his attention. He gave her a kind smile as well as a cup of steaming liquid, his gentle omega scent washing over them soothingly. Lexa felt the tension she’d carried in her shoulders all morning release infinitesimally, and she smiled at the old man gratefully.

"Now, _Heda,_ you know I am always pleased to see you visit, but I assume you made a private appointment for more than just a social call?” Geib said after they had all had a chance to sip the tea, and Lexa nodded.

“You are correct. I was hoping you might have a chance to fit _Klark kom Skaikru_ for some new clothing. I came to you specifically because of your ability to tailor swiftly, while still maintaining quality…and your discretion.” She dropped her voice at the last phrase, but Geib didn't acknowledge her meaningful look with anything more than an extra twinkle to his smile.

“But of course, _Heda._ If you would come this way…” He was speaking to Clarke now, gently guiding her by the elbow to a curtain, behind which, Lexa knew from experience, lay his fitting room. The younger omega darted a quick glance back at her, looking slightly terrified, and Lexa had to restrain herself from following the gut-deep tug to go along with her mate. Instead, she gave Clarke a smile with as much encouragement as she could manage, and watched as the two omegas disappeared behind the thick red fabric.

She trusted Geib implicitly – he had been making clothes for her since she had first Ascended, and had done so for the three previous Commanders – but this was different. This was not her own self she was entrusting him with, but with her heart – with Clarke. She knew that the Sky girl would have to undress at least partially for Geib to size her properly, and there would be no way for her to conceal her condition, or explain it away as mere weight gain. She was putting their secret – and very likely both of their lives – in the old omega’s hands.

There were chairs in the shop for visitors to sit in as they waited to be served, but Lexa ignored them, preferring to pace. She checked the sun over and over, certain that the appointment had to be taking far longer than it should, imagining the worst – but each time, she saw that it could have barely moved any higher in the sky. Occasionally she heard sounds from beyond the curtain and whirled, hand on her sword, but they were always innocuous, low murmurs and quiet questions and, once, an actual _giggle_ from Clarke. Lexa had to stop and take a moment to process the sound, but it wound up splitting her face into a brilliant grin that she was still wearing when the curtain was drawn back.

Clarke looked radiant in a flowing blue shirt, and a pair of soft buckskin breeches that, from what Lexa could tell, fit her much better. She looked comfortable, happy, relaxed – and Lexa found herself relaxing as well, knowing that she had made the right choice in bringing her here. That was the other thing that she valued about Geib, at least as much as his discretion: his ability, and his inclination, to put people at their ease. When she had first arrived to be fitted for the clothes she would need for her new position as _Heda,_ for ceremonies and public appearances and the like, she had been stiff and close-mouthed, practically shaking with the effort of holding herself up under the burdens she carried. She just become _Heda,_ and had killed the children she'd grown up with to do so; she was still seeing their faces in her dreams every night.

But she had also just lost Costia, and that was what truly threatened to break her. Only the whispering of the Spirit, which she had not yet learned to tame, kept her sane, but there had been some very stiff moments that ended with her crying on the floor in Anya’s arms. She flinched from anyone else’s touch – it was too much of a reminder of how Costia’s hands had felt on her body, too much of a reminder of what must have happened to Costia at other hands, the harshness of them when Costia’s skin was only made for soft touches and gentleness – and now here was this strange old omega, who wanted her to undress and allow him to measure her for formalwear.

Her position as Commander had cloaked her in a certain amount of untouchability – one does not lay hands on the reborn ruler of one’s people lightly – but she had known there would come a day when that would not save her. It terrified her, because she feared that if anyone were to touch her kindly, even off-handedly, it would entirely shatter the mask of _Heda_ and transform her into the vulnerable girl that only her former _Fos_ knew her to be. But somehow, Geib had overcome her objections without breaking through them. He had spoken to her as she might have spoken to a worried horse, one that was liable to bolt at any moment: softly and soothingly, a running undercurrent of words in a tone that had perfectly straddled the line between kind and businesslike – exactly what she had needed.

That was why she had been so eager for Clarke to meet him – because she could tell that she needed someone who would treat her kindly, but would not ask her to open up to him; someone who could soothe the rough edges of the world for a few minutes or hours, without demanding to be let into her life. And, of course, someone who could craft clothing that would feel much like his presence did – easy, flowing, and exactly what you needed to make yourself comfortable.

Clarke certainly looked more at ease than she had since Lexa had seen her – not entirely, of course, because no matter how they pretended, the strains of what had happened and what was to come still lay upon them both – but some of the frown lines were gone from her mouth and forehead, and her eyes looked just a little brighter as she stepped towards Lexa. The alpha felt her mouth go dry as her eyes trailed down Clarke’s body, both enjoying how the cloth flowed over her generous curves and searching for the telltale curve of her belly. Upon seeing that the shirt allowed the impression of roundedness, but not pregnancy, Lexa let out a very small sigh, feeling another bright shard of tension removed from beneath her skin.

As Lexa’s silence and staring stretched on into awkwardness, Clarke’s lips curved up in a small smile. “What's the matter, Commander? _Feisripa_ got your tongue?”

 _Or something,_ Lexa thought but didn't say. “My apologies, Ambassador. I was merely struck dumb by a vision of beauty.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, but the faint blush that rose across her cheeks told Lexa all that she needed to know. To cover both of their embarrassment, the alpha turned to Geib, who was pretending to busy himself with brushing stray threads off Clarke’s shoulders. “My gratitude is yours, Geib, and my amazement. I would have thought that clothing our Ambassador so well would have taken much longer…?”

Geib bowed. “Your gratitude is welcome, _Heda,_ but your amazement is not required – I merely had some outfits that I had made for someone else, who informed me that they would not be needed. I was able to alter them to fit _Klark kom Skaikru’_ s lovely figure easily enough.”

Clarke rolled her eyes again, her blush deepening. “I don't know what you two flatterers think you'll get out of your pretty lies, but…”

Geib turned and dipped a slight bow to Clarke this time. “I merely tell the truth, _Wanheda._ However, the items that I have measured you for should be ready in a week or so, and I will have one of my couriers take the rest to the tower, if that is acceptable.”

Clarke nodded. “You've definitely given me enough for right now. _Mochof, Geib.”_

Geib inclined his head. “It was my pleasure. And please do not hesitate to return for any further alterations that might be necessary in the coming months.”

Clarke paled a bit, and Lexa clenched her teeth. She knew that they must both be having the same thought: _He knows._ And of course Geib knew, if he had fitted Clarke for her new outfits – but Lexa couldn't help the sudden urge to gather Clarke to her and snarl at anyone who came near.

 _“Mochof seintaim,”_ she said stiffly, when she had managed to contain herself. “We certainly will.”

“But if you are to see the rest of the city, you must be on your way,” the older omega said mildly. His scent had shifted subtly in response to the stress in hers and Clarke’s, becoming even more soothing and unthreatening than before. “I absolutely understand. Thank you again for your patronage, Commander…and Ambassador, I hope you enjoy our fair Polis. In many ways, it was built by _Heda_ herself – not the actual construction of the streets and buildings, but the world in which such things are possible.”

Now it was Lexa’s turn to blush. “We should be going,” she said, and began to herd Clarke gently towards the door before she could be required to respond to the compliment.

“Thank you!” the Sky girl was able to call out, before the door swung shut on Geib’s gentle smile and hand raised in farewell.

***

The bustle and noise of the city were something of a shock after the relative quiet and tranquility of the tailor’s shop, but Lexa was well-accustomed to it, and able to guide Clarke skillfully to an unoccupied alcove to catch their breaths. When Clarke turned to her, eyes sparkling and face flushed as she sucked in gulps of the chilly morning air, Lexa couldn’t have stopped the smile from stretching at her mouth even if she’d wanted to.

“So, what’s next?” the omega said, still a little breathlessly, but Lexa was feeling somewhat breathless herself – the alcove’s small size, and the difficulty of hearing one another over the clamor of the street, had forced them into rather closer proximity than was usual. The Commander found herself transported back to a few hours ago, when she had been gently flush with Clarke, her mouth moving with the omega’s own, tongue swiping across the seam of Clarke’s lips to coax them open…

“Lexa?”

The alpha startled a bit, flushing, as she was abruptly returned to the present moment. “Did I lose you for a second there?” Clarke said, the gently mocking tone in her voice intimating that she had some idea of what Lexa had been thinking about. Still, there was the flush that remained on her mate’s cheeks to suggest that she was not the only one. Lexa focused on that thought to steady herself. 

“My apologies. I thought that you might perhaps be hungry, because my guards told me you were not seen at the breakfast table. There is a market nearby, where we can see if any of the local produce fits your –”

“That sounds _amazing,”_ Clarke said, her eyes growing instantly somewhat glassy with yearning. Lexa was suddenly hard-put to hold back a very un-Commanderly snort.

“Very well. We will proceed there immediately.” A thought struck her then, making her hesitate so a furious fight between her head and heart could ensue while her stomach fluttered with butterflies. “However…”

“Yes?” Clarke said, and was it Lexa’s imagination or did she move half a step closer? Her eyes were so very large and blue, staring up into Lexa’s, and suddenly she was very strongly considering kissing Clarke Griffin on a public street, in full view of her entire city. And, terrifyingly, she found that she did not care nearly as much as she should. The primal part of her, the alpha, was roaring within her chest to make it known to all and sundry that Clarke was _hers,_ claimed, her mate, carrying her pups.

There was so much pride and happiness within her at the thought that it nearly overwhelmed her caution and fear and burst forth – but only nearly. The consequences reasserted themselves like a cloud passing over the sun, making her shiver accordingly.

“We may be separated by the crowds, and I know that you cannot have had much opportunity to become familiar with the city,” Lexa said, after swallowing back the lump of joy and anxiety that had welled up in the back of her throat. “I suggest that we…that you…” But words deserted her, her stomach fluttering and head spinning with the mingled pride and the terror that arose every time she saw her mate. All she could do was hold out her hand and hope that Clarke understood.

She was graced with the same brilliant smile she’d begun to recognize, the one that told her that her mate was happy, at peace. It washed away all the doubt and fear in Lexa’s heart, and her hand was steady when Clarke took it. “Lead on, Commander,” the omega murmured, a gently mocking lilt to her voice that only increased the glow of affection searing through Lexa’s chest. She was at once beautifully, painfully happy – happier than she could remember being in all of her lives. Clarke’s hand was warm in hers as they let themselves slip into the current of the city and be borne steadily towards the market by the human tide.

As they walked, Lexa found herself musing on the future, a subject she did not often touch. Fate was something with which she was intimately familiar – she had been fated to receive the Flame, according to Titus; she would be fated one day to die, and pass it on to the next Commander. That was all she could expect from her life; everything else was struggle, was heartbreak, was change. Her people’s lives were often harsh, and their endings sudden; _Heda’s_ was usually even more so. To think of the future was futile, as it was something that she had long told herself she did not have.

And yet, with Clarke’s hand in hers, striding through the bustling metropolis that she had built with her blade and her words and her vision of what life could and _should_ be, all at once the future did not seem quite so certain. Instead of frightening her with its sudden shakiness, however, it lifted her heart a little. When she looked ahead, she did not immediately see death on some far-flung battlefield, or at the hands of an assassin; instead she saw mate and pups and home. _We’re not there yet,_ she told herself sternly, trying to shut down the dangerous hope she could feel welling in her chest. But before she could wrench herself from these visions entirely, the words came to her:

_Maybe, someday…_

They were not there yet. But perhaps, she thought, as they crossed a busy thoroughfare, it was a sign of things to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigedasleng: 
> 
> Bandrona kom Skaikru: Ambassador of the Sky People  
> Niron: dear one, loved one  
> Sha, lukot. Ai biyo moba: Yes, friend. I am sorry.  
> Feisripa: tiger


	17. a garden you never get to see

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. It's been a day and an age, hasn't it? I promise I haven't forgotten about this story, but...life got in the way. However: I have gotten rid of the hell-job I kept whining about, I'm moving to a new apartment, and I have a brand new beta - the inimitable @silencedoesntmakechange on tumblr. She's helped talk me through so many different aspects of this story, and been endlessly encouraging, and I couldn't have done it without her. 
> 
> Another important point: I now have a Patreon! For more information on what that is, please see my tumblr (n1ghtwr1ter.tumblr.com). I hope you enjoy the final chapter of our fluff interlude, and as always, let me know what you think in the comments or on tumblr @n1ghtwr1ter.

Clarke had spent a little time on the streets of Polis, both before and during Lexa’s _soulou gonplei_ with Roan, and she had found it somewhat overstimulating, but she had been so utterly bent on her purpose then that she had found it easy enough to push past the clamor. Now, however, without the prospect of her mate’s imminent, public death to focus her, the hubbub of the streets was nothing short of overwhelming.

The noise, the sights, the press of so many _bodies,_ so many scents and purposes and words spoken in so many voices, made her feel as though her skull was nothing but a hive for an overactive swarm of bees. The only thing that kept her grounded was the warmth of Lexa’s hand in hers. The gentle but steady pressure of the alpha guiding her onward served as an anchor, but also sent her thoughts flying far ahead, to a world in which they might be able to do this all the time – not just for purely practical reasons, such as the need not to lose one another in a crowd, but merely for the small, warm comforts of each other's touch.

Before she could get too far ahead of herself, however, they emerged into a large, bright square. Clarke sucked in a deep breath, fortifying herself against the instinctive urge to press closer to Lexa, seeking the reassurance of her mate’s scent. What she smelled instead was nothing short of heavenly – a cornucopia of aromas so heady and varied that her head swam all over again. The closest thing she had to compare it to was the smell of the cafeteria back on the Ark…but that would be like juxtaposing Kane’s small bonsai with one of the humongous, ancient pines in the forests of _Trikru._

There was the cool sweetness of fruit, so fresh she could almost taste it on her tongue; the warmth of rising bread; the sticky-honey scent of pastry; and even more that she couldn’t identify, because she had grown up with the stale, muted tastes of freeze-dried, powder-based everything. The first time she had tasted milk fresh from a goat had been at a small homestead deep in Eden’s Woods, and she’d nearly cried.

Lexa seemed to notice how stunned she was, because she took hold of her elbow, lightly towing her towards one of the stalls that ringed the market square, and Clarke was glad to follow. The Commander led her to a smaller stand in the corner of the marketplace, where the scent of both pastry and fruit grew even stronger. As they approached their destination, Clarke realized why, her mouth beginning to water: laid out on a platter were a wide variety of fruit tarts, most of them still steaming from the oven.

Lexa reached for a pouch on her belt, one that presumably held money, but before she could withdraw any currency her hand was slapped sharply with a wooden spoon. “You should know better by now, _Heda,”_ the shopkeeper scolded, and Clarke couldn’t hold back a grin when she saw Lexa flush. “And yet you keep trying.”

“It would not be fair of me to expect special treatment,” the alpha protested, to which the woman gave a very firm snort.

“In your own city, from your own citizens – certainly not,” she said, and Clarke stifled a giggle as Lexa positively squirmed. But there was a sheepish grin on her mate’s face that suggested she wasn’t particularly affronted, and the cadence of the older woman’s responses told Clarke that this was a familiar conversation.

“Still, I would not want to impose,” Lexa said, although she was already putting the purse away. The shopkeeper snorted again.

“We’re likely to have a good harvest this year, and it’s hardly an imposition for someone who keeps us safe and able to enjoy such bounty.”

Lexa flushed even deeper when she turned to Clarke and saw the giant smirk creasing the omega’s face. With an air almost of resignation, she gestured towards the treats on the stall’s countertop and said, “These are the finest berry pastries in Polis. Dayna’s family has been making them for six generations, and is currently working on a seventh to carry on the tradition, unless I miss my guess…?”

The beta woman – _Dayna_ – shook her head, looking mildly exasperated. “You’re not wrong, although Wash seems to enjoy sticking his fingers in the flour and painting the walls of the house with it more than anything. He’s with his sire at the forge today, or I wouldn’t have a tart to sell. Who knows, though – the new one might have more of an aptitude for it than an appetite.” She rested her hand atop the gentle swell in her midsection, and Lexa’s eyes widened.

“Ah, _spechou!_ Katrin must be very proud. When is this one due?”

“Sometime in early Autumn – but _Heda,_ you are not being a very good host. You have yet to introduce me to your lovely guest, and she appears to be in dire need of sustenance.”

Now it was Clarke’s turn to blush. She snapped back the hand that she hadn’t even realized was reaching towards the tarts, averting her eyes.

 _“Ai biyo moba,”_ Lexa said, and Clarke could hear the smirk in her voice. It made her want to thump the alpha solidly in the side, but she knew that might give away rather more of their relationship than either of them was ready to reveal. “This is _Klark, Bandrona kom Skaikru.”_ When Dayna’s face remained blandly polite, Lexa continued, “She is also called _Wanheda.”_

“Ah,” the baker said, her eyes widening with understanding. Clarke expected that that understanding would soon darken into something a good bit less pleasant, and she wouldn’t have blamed Dayna. While she was sure that Lexa wouldn’t have dispensed the news of _Skaikru’s_ treachery freely, everyone knew _Wanheda._ Even when she had been forcing her way through the streets in search of Roan, and later Lexa, she had not missed the too-long glances that she got, the murmurs that floated after her. It could not be particularly comfortable to be in the presence of one with so much blood on her hands, after all, even if it had ceased to drip.

It had been easier walking around the city with Lexa, because in the presence of _Heda_ it was easy to overlook the omega at her side, Clarke supposed. She had been able to experience the freedom of not being _Wanheda,_ or Ambassador for a traitor nation, but instead had enjoyed the anonymity of being Lexa’s honored guest. Now, however, it appeared that her brief moment of namelessness was done. For the first time since she had arrived in Polis, Clarke found herself yearning for the forest’s solitude.

But when she could overcome the dread boiling in her gut to make herself look at Dayna again, the older woman was smiling kindly. “Here,” she said, holding out a tart that looked somehow even fresher than the ones on the plate. She must have pulled it directly from the oven, Clarke realized when she took it – and nearly dropped it, it was so hot. Clarke just barely managed to bobble it into her other hand and blow on both the tart and her burned fingers without dropping it, before glancing back up at the baker.

 _“Mochof,”_ she said sheepishly.

 _“Pro,”_ Dayna said, as though she’d very much like to laugh but knew that it wouldn’t be appreciated.

“Well, go on, Clarke,” Lexa said, and Clarke turned to see the Commander shifting from foot to foot like an impatient child, her eyes fixed on the treat in Clarke’s hand. With a raised eyebrow, Clarke took a bite – as slowly as humanly possible. She had just enough time to see Lexa roll her eyes and give a quiet growl before her senses were utterly taken up with the food in her mouth.

It tasted like a sunny meadow, like the promise of spring had finally burst into its full summer bloom. And it tasted like cool rain after a long, hot day spent outside doing nothing very much useful at all, but enjoying it immensely. Those experiences were the only way Clarke could think to describe the taste of the strawberries, and the way the pastry flaked to bits in her mouth; all of the words she had for food were rendered dry and dusty as the stuff on the Ark had been. Her eyes began to water, and a second later she felt a gentle touch at her elbow; she blinked back the moisture to see Lexa gazing at her with clear concern. “’s hot,” she managed, after she’d swallowed, and that was true; but that was not the only reason.

She gobbled up the rest of it in the blink of an eye and felt it sitting in her stomach like a stone, very satisfyingly. When she was done, she turned a brilliant grin on Lexa, then tempered it with sincerity for Dayna. “Thank you,” Clarke said again. “I’ve honestly never had anything that good.”

Dayna gave an indulgent snort. “’Course not. You wouldn’t have, since I stopped working at the tower, and since my mother stopped cooking. This is her recipe, you know. Best tarts in all of Polis, though she could hardly have served very many, seeing as our _Heda_ here stole ‘em practically out of the oven every time she made ‘em.”

Clarke turned delightedly to Lexa; the blush on the alpha’s face was confirmation enough. “She’s exaggerating,” the Commander said stiffly, but Dayna scoffed.

“I’m not. It’s a marvel that any of the other little ducklings got to taste any. But I will say this: our _Heda’s_ nothing if not fair. She makes certain to take her school down to see me at least twice a month. That Aden’s got a sweet tooth to rival hers.”

Dayna’s diatribe startled a laugh out of Clarke, and she only laughed harder as Lexa’s flush deepened. The alpha’s jaw worked once or twice, as though she were fighting with herself over what to say, but in the end she said nothing: her hand flashed out, quick as a striking snake, and before Clarke could blink she’d stuffed an entire pastry in her mouth, and was chewing wrathfully. The omega snorted. “I wasn’t sure that I could believe that of our esteemed _Heda,”_ she said, with the barest emphasis on Lexa’s title, “but after _that_ little performance I can totally see it.”

The baker’s laughter rang out full and hearty across the square, and a second later Clarke’s joined it: Lexa was still struggling to swallow the tart, and could offer no rejoinder but an increasingly furious glare. When the glaring turned to coughing a moment later, however, Clarke had the opportunity to thump Lexa solidly on the back several times.

Once Clarke and Dayna had finished their last snorts of laughter, and Lexa had taken several rather angry draws from a waterskin that the baker had offered her, they took their leave. The beta woman pressed another tart into each of their hands, making Lexa brighten considerably, and saw them off with a grin and a wave.

“So, that’s…Dayna,” Clarke said as they crossed the market square. The morning had begun in earnest, and the sunlight was bright in her eyes, making her have to squint to see Lexa furtively licking the remainder of the tart from her fingers – _good god, how did she manage to snarf that down so fast?_ Clarke couldn’t help wondering.

“Yes,” Lexa said, hastily removing her fingers from her mouth and clasping her hands behind her back, as though to protect herself from future temptation. “She’s Brenna’s daughter. She was a little older than me when I came to Polis for the first time.”

“How old were you?”

“I had about two winters, from what Titus remembers.”

Lexa said it offhandedly, not noticing that Clarke’s jaw had dropped open until she managed to snap it shut. Giving Clarke a quizzical look, the alpha shrugged. “That’s fairly standard for _Natblida._ Sometimes we are taken even younger.”

Clarke shook her head. “That still…I can’t even imagine it. Being taken away from my parents that young…”

“It sounds harsh, I know,” Lexa said, “but it’s necessary to ensure that _Heda_ is able to govern all of the Twelve Clans fairly – well, Thirteen now.” For the first time that morning, her look darkened in earnest, not in jest. “That’s why Nia’s _Natblida_ is so troubling. There is no telling what kinds of cruel loyalties the queen may have imbued her with.”

Clarke bit her lip, eyes cast to the cobbles they walked across. It was awful enough even to consider the prospect of Lexa dying, and then immediately having to watch the Nightbloods – the _children_ – that had been raised under her care fight each other to the death to see who would succeed her. But to imagine someone who was anyone like Nia taking up Lexa’s mantle…it didn’t bear considering. A cold shudder passed through her despite the warmth of the day.

Lexa noticed. A moment later she was pressed against a warm side, Lexa’s hand gently clasping her elbow. “I’m sorry, Clarke,” she said, her eyes shining with sincerity. “I did not mean to turn our conversation to such dark things.”

Clarke shook her head. “It’s fine, it’s…something I should know, I guess. As Ambassador.”

Lexa nodded. “Of course.”

Casting about for another subject, Clarke ventured, “So _Natblida_ come from all of the Clans, then?”

“Yes,” Lexa said gratefully. “According to the lore that Titus teaches us, the Nightblood trait comes from the first Commander. It’s not fully known how those with the potential are chosen, but we do know that no one who does not possess it can survive contact with the Commander’s Spirit.”

Choosing not to touch that last, Clarke asked, “So is it hereditary, somewhat?”

Lexa shrugged. “If it is, it’s not in any way we can predict. The annals of the _Fleimkepa_ are full of attempts to create a genealogy, a lineage of Commanders and _Natblida,_ but all attempts have failed. Sometimes the _sheidjus_ will appear in three generations of the same family, one after the other, but then disappear completely. Other times it will appear once, and then never again. And then there is the fact that…well, it is not very often that _Natblida_ live long enough to bear or sire children.”

 _Because only the Commander survives the Conclave_ was the unvoiced thought between them. Picturing the Nightbloods she’d seen, Clarke couldn’t imagine any of them fighting to the death – even Aden, one of the oldest and tallest of them, seemed far too young to have even picked up a sword, let alone be ready to kill with one. And the youngest of them, Riel…she was barely more than a sweet-faced pup. _God…and if they had to face Ontari…_ It didn’t bear thinking about.

She darted a glance at the alpha beside her, wondering what she was thinking, but to her surprise Lexa appeared to be just now looking away. Clarke’s eyes narrowed, but she returned her gaze to the street they were now walking down, and realizing abruptly that it wasn’t one she knew. They had been walking further and further from the tower, and were now in a part of the city that was entirely unknown to her. It appeared to contain less houses and stalls and small stores, and more large warehouses and craftsman’s shops. The sounds of metal being worked rang in her ears, a chorus of bells at various tempos and pitches, as they passed down a row of blacksmiths. A moment later, they turned onto a smaller lane, and the air throbbed with the humming of floor looms at work, punctuated by the thump of pedals.

Clarke was at first captivated by the sheer busyness of Lexa’s city, the myriad of jobs being done and the bustle of porters as they darted in and out of shops with goods or payment, or handled large carts skillfully down the narrow cobblestone streets, but eventually the fact that she had no idea where they were, or where they were going, caught up to her. She turned to Lexa to ask exactly that, and once again caught the alpha glancing at her. Lexa snapped her head away again, raising her chin as though to preserve some measure of her dignity, but Clarke just laughed, having seen exactly what her mate had been looking at. “Here,” she said, offering the half-finished tart in her hand.

“Oh no, I couldn’t,” Lexa protested, holding up her hand to ward it off – though Clarke didn’t miss how her fingers twitched as though to take it. “You need to eat and keep up your strength, Clarke.”

“I’m not hungry anymore,” she said, and it was true – thinking of the children she’d seen, children who clearly loved Lexa like a mother and a sister both, fighting each other to the death while still heartsick over losing her, had entirely wiped out her appetite. And then there was the thought that she’d been steadily trying to keep at bay: while she knew that it was nearly impossible to predict who would be born with _sheidjus,_ surely there was a better chance when they had been sired by the Commander herself? To imagine that her own pups might one day be inducted into that legacy, to have to fight and kill their own siblings over their sire’s body… It was enough to make her feel as though she never wanted to eat again.

Lexa appeared to glean something of her thoughts from her scent, or from the look on her face, because she accepted the tart gingerly with a murmured _“Mochof.”_ Clarke nodded. She soon found that watching the alpha vacuum up the treat helped restore a small part of her mood. _At least somebody’s enjoying themselves._ And if something as small as a delicious strawberry tart could elicit such simple joy in Lexa… _When we get back to the tower, I’ll see if I can’t convince Brenna to make some more, just for old time’s sake._

As Lexa was cleaning the last vestiges of the tart from her fingers, they emerged from the alley they’d been passing through onto a wide thoroughfare. Clarke recognized it as one of the four that ran through the city in each cardinal direction, each one leading straight out from the tower, but because of the circuitous route they’d taken – most likely to avoid the press of morning traffic – she couldn’t say which one they might be on. She knew she could have made her way back to the tower if she needed to – it was visible from practically anywhere within the city, its flame still blazing against the sharp blue sky – but she assumed that Lexa had led them here for some purpose. Arching an eyebrow, she turned to the alpha and asked, “So, were you going to tell me where we’re headed at some point, or am I supposed to guess?”

The Commander shook her head, a shy grin twitching at her lips. She hurried to get the words out before it could completely overtake her mouth. “No, I… There was someplace I wanted you to see. We’re almost there.” She gestured quietly onward, and Clarke followed the sweep of her arm to see a large, hulking building across the way. It looked a lot like one of the factories Clarke had seen in history books on Old Earth, all brick and wide, tall windows, many of them open to the breeze. The edifice also had its doors rolled back to reveal a dark expanse that appeared to be humming with activity, but she couldn’t discern what that activity might be.

She looked to Lexa questioningly yet again, but the alpha’s smile, while fully blossomed now, revealed nothing but nervous eagerness. “Come, Clarke. There’s something I want to show you.”

After making sure they weren’t going to be run over by a racing cart or hurrying porter, they crossed the road to the brick building. Clarke had to blink rapidly to adjust her eyes to the dimness after the sunny street outside, but when she’d recovered she was glad she had. The entire bottom floor was just one wide, expansive, high-ceilinged room, and it was a good thing, too – it clearly served as both a market and a trading floor. Several platforms were dotted throughout the room, and the voices of auctioneers rang out over the general clamor, barking out bids and pitches for wine from _Louwoda,_ furs from _Azgeda,_ woven rugs from _Delfikru._ There were more stalls as well, in the style of the ones in the open-air marketplace, but while many had racks and rows displaying their goods, others appeared to be offering services as well: to their left, a woman was getting a heel repaired on her boot, and just beyond that, a tall warrior with his face entirely obscured by scarves was having a wickedly curved scythe sharpened to a keen point.

Just as in the first market they’d been to, there was so much activity, so many people of so varied appearance selling so many different _things_ that Clarke could hardly take it all in. The scents were dizzying as well, even more so than the open-air marketplace, because of the building’s enclosure. The windows had all been thrown open wide, but even so Clarke’s nose was assaulted with a torrent of smells: leather, fabric, sweat; alpha, beta, omega; aggression, eagerness, greed… She had to take a moment to let herself adjust, partially covering her nose with her hand, but Lexa’s warm, gentle touch on her elbow, and the alpha’s familiar scent, served to ground her. She looked up at the Commander and gave her a small smile and nod to let her know she was ready to continue.

Lexa let out a small, barely-audible sigh, relief filtering through her usual scent, and then proceeded to lead Clarke through the throng. She didn’t ask permission to take Clarke’s hand this time, but she hadn’t needed to – the omega had already been reaching for hers, and she felt a spark tingle along her arm when their fingers met and interlocked seamlessly. _Get a grip,_ she told herself somewhat breathlessly, but even though there were plenty of novelties to amaze her, Clarke’s eyes kept straying to where their hands met as they fought their way through the crowd.

Eventually they reached the center of the room, where the press of bodies thinned out to reveal a large, wide staircase reaching up to the next room. Lexa threw a grin back over her shoulder at Clarke, but before the omega could ask what was so amusing, she was towing her up the steps. Clarke let out an exasperated huff as she followed, but she couldn’t help being touched, a bit, to see her mate so gleeful. While she had long had the privilege of seeing behind the Commander’s stoic mask, experiencing the tenderness and sweetness and sadness that it concealed, this…this was something else entirely. Lexa was almost giddy, her boots thudding gracelessly on the wooden planks as she hurried to their destination, and Clarke could honestly say that she’d never seen the alpha this visibly excited. Experiencing Polis with Lexa had shown her an entirely new side to the Ground, one that could be loud and busy and joyful and peaceful; it had also shown her an entirely new side to Lexa. Comfortable and in her element, her rank obscured by the sheer mass of humans that crowded the streets and the squares and this building, Lexa could allow herself to express such things as excitement and happiness and anticipation. She could simply be _Lexa,_ the one beneath the warpaint and armor, and while Clarke treasured the rare, private moments in which she’d gotten glimpses, she found all of a sudden that _just Lexa_ was something she wished she could share with the world.

Clarke was finding the stairs a bit more winding than her mate – _not that I can be blamed for that; I_ am _carrying extra cargo after all, and she needs to calm her tits,_ she thought acidly – and eventually Lexa dropped her hand to continue clattering up the steps at her own ridiculous pace. She paused at the very top to scan whatever was up there with keen, eager eyes, and Clarke couldn’t help pausing herself to appreciate the fine figure that her mate cut, highlighted in the glow from the wide windows just beyond. _Good god, Griffin, this is not the time to be drooling over her,_ but she couldn’t help the wildly inappropriate stab of arousal she felt at the sight of Lexa’s strong shoulders and shapely rear.

After looking over her shoulder to make certain that Clarke was still following, Lexa returned to scanning the upper floor. Within moments, her eyes widened as she clearly caught sight of something – or someone, Clarke realized, as she watched her mate issue a greeting. With a grunt, the omega forced herself to ascend the last couple of steps to reach Lexa’s side.

The person Lexa was talking to looked so odd that Clarke did not immediately recognize the space for what it was. He was old, a good bit older than anybody else she had met on the ground, with a shock of white hair that seemed to wisp out from his head like a frizzy cloud. He wore all black, and despite the warmth of the day and the fire burning in a very wide fireplace at the other end of the hall, was clothed in a thick robe with a high collar that nearly went up to his chin. It was oddly familiar, and after a moment of staring Clarke was able to place it: except for the color, it was identical to the one Titus wore.

That alone might have made her curl her lip, but just about everything about the man screamed _non-threatening:_ his age, and the fact that his shoulders seemed to curl inward, and the way that he clasped his hands together in front of his chest so that they didn’t shake. To her surprise, however, as she approached him near enough to be able to discern his faint scent, he was an alpha.

“Clarke, I would like you to meet Ezro. He is _skechkepa_ of the Commander’s _skechod.”_

Clarke nodded, attempting to conceal her confusion at the unfamiliar words. She had grown fairly fluent in _Trigedasleng_ during her time in the wilderness, and only more so in Polis, surrounded as she was by Lexa’s people – so much so that at times, she didn’t realize what language she was speaking in – but she’d yet to encounter these terms. After she looked up from returning the elder alpha’s short bow and murmuring a few polite words of greeting, she realized why.

The room she found herself in was like nothing she’d ever imagined she’d see on Earth. Most newly constructed buildings contained only rooms that were necessary for some point of survival – sleeping, cooking, eating, storing and maintaining weaponry. Even those edifices restored from the wreckage of the old world had had any areas not strictly suited to those purposes either reclaimed for others, or largely ignored. It was something she’d only ever read about in books, and the more she saw of the way people lived here, the more she doubted she would ever see something of the kind. But this entire floor of the building they were in was unmistakably an art gallery.

Clarke was utterly entranced, captivated as though the room was full of magic and not paintings, sculptures, sketches, framed photographs… Entirely heedless of how rude she was being, she found herself drawn past Lexa and Ezro and out into the main room as though compelled. She knew that she could hardly have tapped the vast breadth of art that the world must have possessed at one point, what with the few textbooks and large, glossy hardcovers that they’d had on the Ark. They were filled with references to other works, other artists, ones whose work was not pictured but only described. It had tormented her once upon a time, to know that these things existed – or had at one point – but that she would never get to see them in her lifetime. And yet here she was, recognizing them, the words taking on form and life and bursting into vibrant color before her very eyes. It stole her breath, and made her throat swell with emotion.

She paced from one work to the next, drinking each one in as though the brilliant colors and elegant lines were rain falling on the parched landscape of her mind. The fact that so many different people had seen the world and portrayed it in so many different ways, and yet each form was intelligible to those who saw it, was just as breathtaking a realization this time as it was the first time she’d had it. She was caught in a delicious kind of torture, racked by a need to see every new thing at once, yet at the same time loath to leave each new piece behind before she’d managed to memorize it as thoroughly as she had the well-worn, faded images in her books.

And then she saw the first piece that she recognized, not just from words but from one of those images. Clarke could have sworn that her heart stopped, and she couldn’t hold back the emotion swelling within her. She let out a hoarse gasp, and made her way to the painting at a gait just shy of running. It was one from a series which she’d seen in its entirety on the printed page of a book about the French Impressionist movement, one of a grouping of poplar trees on a riverbank from various angles and seasons and slants of light. The artist – Monet, Clarke remembered – had found out that the trees were scheduled to be cut down for lumber, and had arranged to have the logging delayed in order to complete over twenty canvases from his small boat.

“That is the only one that remains of the set, as far as we know,” rasped a quiet, dry voice from just behind her. Clarke jumped, but she couldn’t bring herself to take her eyes off the painting. Lexa was here, Lexa would protect her – and besides, if she was going to die, what a place to do it in! “It was found in the ruins of a place called Philad Museuot by Charle, who was _Heda_ before Lexa twice over,” the old alpha continued. “He was on his way to quell a border war between _Azgeda_ and _Trikru_ – one from which he would not return.”

Clarke nodded, scarcely taking Ezro’s words in – until a few of them caught in her mind despite her concentration on the painting, and she frowned. “Why was the Commander out looking for this stuff?” she wondered aloud. “Especially when he was going to war…”

“It’s true that our duties have much more to do with protecting our people, and conserving what peace we can,” Lexa said quietly, from just behind her other shoulder. Clarke flushed to feel the alpha so close – they were not touching anywhere, but she could feel the heat of her mate’s body just as clearly on her skin as if they were pressed flush. “But at some point, one of the first Commanders recognized what the world had come to, and what might be utterly lost if concerted efforts were not made towards its preservation. And so this place was born.” Clarke turned to ask what she meant by _this place_ and saw a look on the alpha’s face that she had never quite seen before. It was one of deep satisfaction and contentment, a look that said _at last, here is something I have done right –_ and while Lexa’s eyes did not leave the painting, Clarke understood her to mean the entirety of what was contained here, in this museum.

“Not all Commanders have shared the same commitment to its preservation, of course,” Ezro continued, in his quiet, comforting murmur. “Others have not seen the utility of it – and they are quite right. This is a place of abundance, and there is precious little of it in our world. And yet, I believe that none of them have tried to dismantle the office of _Skechkepa,_ and its function, because it represents hope for a future in which we might have such abundance again.”

Clarke nodded, finding herself yet again unable to speak. She moved through the rest of the room silently, listening as Ezro and Lexa told her of the procurement and restoration of each piece. As they went on, however, she found that she was paying more attention to Lexa than to the art. When she had first met the grim young Commander of the Grounders, Clarke could never have predicted the gleam in her eyes, the grin twitching at the corners of her mouth, and the joy hiding behind her words as she spoke of her efforts at preserving what few beautiful things remained in the ruins of the old world.

It was almost like speaking to a different person. Lexa had changed, surely, since Clarke had come to know her – there was a certain vulnerability in her eyes, a hopefulness, that had not been there before, and that made Clarke’s chest grow tight with emotion. But she could not claim all the credit for it, surely; Lexa’s commitment to assisting Ezro’s work had been present long before she even knew Clarke existed. So even after losing Costia, even after having to kill the children she had grown up with in order to survive herself, even after determining that love was weakness and making herself believe it, there had still been something within Lexa that wanted this – for others, if not for herself. Her life was to be war and death, and choices that no one should ever have to bear, so that her people might survive. And yet she made those choices so that others would not have to, so that they could live their lives free of that weight.

Everything that Clarke had seen in Polis – the peace, the bustling commerce and prosperity, the harmonious convergence of so many different cultures, and now this simple shrine to useless beauty that would feed no bellies and win no wars, but might instead feed souls and win over spirits – told her that. Polis was like the garden at the tower’s foot: the whole city was Lexa’s garden. She planted seeds, and worked diligently to protect it and help it grow, even though she knew (“Do you ever think about anything other than your death?”) that she might never get to see it blossom.

Clarke turned away from the sculpture she’d been pretending to look at to say something like this to Lexa – something ill-advised – but the look that she caught on her mate’s face, the open, unguarded fondness mixed with happiness and trepidation – almost as though she could hear Lexa asking, _Do you like it, Clarke?_ – told her that the alpha already knew. Something escaped Clarke’s chest, a quiet sound that hadn’t yet decided whether it was a laugh or a sob – possibly still both. It was covered, fortunately, by Ezro’s continued monologue, but she knew that Lexa must have heard anyway, or understood. The Commander stepped closer, reached for her hand, and squeezed it warmly for a long moment.

They had come to the end of the gallery without realizing it – they were too busy staring into each other’s eyes, reading thoughts and emotions that they perhaps did not realize themselves were there – when Ezro’s voice cut through the quiet: “Did you have any questions about any of the works here, _Wanheda?_ Or you, _Heda?”_

Lexa broke away, jumping a little guiltily before putting her hands behind her back and assuming a strict, military posture. But Clarke’s eyes were drawn to the way her mate’s fingers still flexed just a bit, as though seeking to recapture the warmth and feeling of her own. Even though she knew that they needed to maintain their secrecy, Clarke couldn’t keep a small smile from curving up her lips. It had been a long time since she’d felt such a smile – one that could not be contained or prevented, no matter how much it needed to be.

Ezro was saying something, and Lexa responded, but Clarke didn’t know what was said – she was too full, too close to brimming over with all that she had seen and heard and felt. But she _did_ notice when Lexa returned to her side and murmured, “There is one more place I’d like to show you, Clarke, if you are willing.” And she couldn’t help but nod, because who could even want to say no to such words, spoken with such quiet hope? After exchanging small bows with Ezro, and thanking him in a broken tone that he was kind enough to pretend not to notice, she allowed Lexa to gently take her elbow and guide her to a flight of steps at the other end of the gallery, leading to the third and final floor of the warehouse.

Clarke winced at the light that blasted through the windows at the top of the landing, and had to shield her eyes, but Lexa’s hand on her arm steadied her as she mounted the last couple of steps. Then they turned a corner, and the light dimmed dramatically – enough that she was able to open her eyes.

They faced down a long hallway with doors on either side, most of them closed. It was comparatively narrow, suggesting that the rooms themselves took up most of the space on the floor. The lone circular window, high at the other end of the hall, allowed gentle afternoon light to filter through. Lexa had paused to allow her eyes to adjust, but she could smell the alpha’s eagerness clearly. Amused, Clarke gave her a small nod, and was able to catch the edge of her grin before she turned away to lead on.

Lexa did not try to open any of the closed doors, but when they came to one that was open, she poked her head in, said something to whoever was within, and then gestured for Clarke to join her. The omega’s first thought was for the incredible natural light that the room’s high windows – nearly floor to ceiling, with an impressive view of the golden-tinted city – would have made it a dream for any artist. After a moment’s observation, she realized that this was exactly what the room was: a studio.

A beta sat on a high stool, brow furrowed as he considered a canvas in front of him. He was furiously mixing paint on a palette, and for a moment Clarke couldn’t quite understand why – the painting was obviously finished. But at the same time as she noticed the scratches and scarring on the canvas’s surface, clearly the result of damage from the war, Lexa murmured in her ear, “This is where the _skecha_ work under Ezro’s direction. Much of what we find is damaged, sometimes beyond what skill we have to repair it…but that is also part of the duties of the _Skechkepa._ He and his artists, such as Jerod here, are charged with rediscovering the techniques that those of the Old World used to make their creations.”

Clarke nodded, fascinated by the concept, and by the way that the beta worked. Lexa had clearly asked him if they could observe, and she doubted that he would have told his _Heda_ no, but for they might as well not have been there for how absolute his concentration was. After directing a final frown at the palette in his hand, Jerod turned away from the canvas and back to a workbench, where he began grinding together an assortment of herbs and berries. Soon the room was filled with an aroma that was pungent but not unpleasant, and Clarke saw that a vibrant blue color was beginning to fill the bowl he was using. That seemed to please him far more than the color on his palette, because when he brought it over to compare with the canvas, a smile spread across his face. Taking up a very small and delicate brush that Clarke couldn’t help itching to examine, he began daubing miniscule amounts of the paint onto the scars and pocks that marred the image’s azure sky.

She was fascinated enough that she could probably have watched him all day long, but a gentle touch on her arm brought her back to herself, and to Lexa. She turned to see the alpha smiling at her with a tinge of affectionate amusement, and while she blushed at having been caught so enthralled, the fondness in her mate’s gaze was enough to ease the sting of embarrassment. “We should leave him to his work,” Lexa whispered, and after one more long look at what Jerod was doing, Clarke allowed herself to be led out of the doorway and back into the hall.

When they had moved on far enough to be out of earshot, Clarke allowed herself the question that had been tingling on her tongue ever since Lexa had explained the artist’s purpose. “So…do your _skecha_ only restore Old World pieces, or do they create their own?” She thought she might already know the answer, based on her knowledge of Grounder society, but then again, the Commander had shown her quite a few things today that surprised her.

“There are not many, but there is historical precedent for someone being found to have a gift for such work, who are invited to live here and ply their craft…but such people are rare, and most do not have the opportunity to hone their skill enough to be recognized for it.” Lexa offered her a sad smile. “It’s the world we live in, I’m afraid.”

Clarke nodded. “Doesn’t surprise me. Still, the fact that you’ve kept places for them at all says a lot about you, I think.” They were both carefully not looking at one another, but out of the corner of her eye she saw Lexa’s eyebrows rise.

“About me, or about _Heda?_ Because I was not the one to have created these opportunities; I have only upheld them…”

“About – about all of it,” Clarke said, flapping her hands a bit in a lame attempt to encompass the entire operation. “About _Heda,_ about Polis, about you…”

They had reached the end of the hall, or close to it, and Clarke was treated to a rare, unconstrained smile. It beamed from Lexa, brighter even than the sunlight pouring from the window above them, and between those two glows Clarke felt her eyes prick with something like tears. _Stupid,_ she told herself, _getting all emotional over this, pregnancy hormones are fucking with me…_ But she couldn’t help thinking that she might have felt this way even if she hadn’t been carrying Lexa’s pups.

The alpha looked a bit awkward as she sniffed a bit, and turned to try and surreptitiously wipe her nose in her sleeve. To Clarke’s relief, she turned away to give her some privacy, under the guise of inspecting the final two doors at the end of the hall. As Clarke finished collecting herself, however, Lexa pulled up her sleeve just a bit to expose a thick iron key on a leather loop around her wrist. When she fitted it to the lock of the door on their left, Clarke saw that its head was in the shape of the symbol Lexa wore on her brow.

The door swung open, and Clarke found herself yet again awash in golden afternoon light. It was another studio, much like the one in which they'd watched Jerod work, but she could tell that this one had not been touched in a while. Not because there was any air of abandonment – in fact, there was a newness to it, like the smell of fresh sawdust in a barn she’d helped raise in exchange for a meal during her time in the wildnerness, that Clarke liked – but instead because it was filled with empty things. Reams of blank paper, stacks of fresh canvases waiting to be filled, fresh paints and charcoals laid out in rows…and in the center a drafting table, with a stool set at just the right height.

She had only just managed to calm herself down, but the tears were threatening to come again. Clarke bit her lip as she stepped past the alpha’s outstretched arm and into the studio, running her fingers over everything and relearning the beloved textures of pastels, paints, horsehair brushes. She didn't want to presume that all of this was meant for her, but from the soft smile on Lexa’s face, highlighted by the afternoon sun beaming in from the arched windows, there was no other conclusion to draw. She would have made a perfect subject for a drawing, in fact… Clarke could already envision the sweep of her charcoal pencil across fresh paper, sketching out high cheekbones and a strong jawline. And that was it, wasn't it? She tried to speak, but all that came out was a cracked word before her emotions rose to choke her voice:

“Lexa…”

The alpha’s smile wavered, and she took a step closer, presumably to try to read in Clarke’s scent what her words failed to say. Her brow furrowed in confusion as she stepped further into the room – no doubt, Clarke thought, from the tumult of unfamiliar smells that her nose was unused to sorting through. At last, she could only meet Clarke’s eyes, and say quietly, her voice trembling with hope, “Do you like it, Clarke?”

Clarke let out a laugh that bore a strong resemblance to a sob, because words failed her. But what could she even say? What could you say to something like this that would mean anything, that would be enough? In the end, Clarke answered the only way she could think to. Her first couple of steps were leaden as she tried to convince her legs to move, but by the time she reached Lexa she was practically flying into her arms. She only had time to see the alpha’s eyebrows rise almost comically high before she was pressing her lips to Lexa’s.

The warmth of her, the solidity, the easy way that she caught Clarke in her arms and wrapped them around her waist to steady her and hold the omega to her, was so instantly familiar that Clarke felt as though her very soul was taking a warm, clean shower. She let herself sink into Lexa, allowed herself to disregard her hesitation and her fear of what might happen if she opened her heart to Lexa once more. Because the truth was, it was already hers; it had always been hers. When they had been parted, it had ached for Lexa with every beat. Only now, when their heartbeats fluttered in frantic unison, did she truly feel whole again.

She opened her mouth and allowed herself to revel in the taste of Lexa, even as tears – whether hers or the alpha’s, she couldn't tell – mingled with the taste of her lips. They added a tinge of bitterness to Lexa’s habitual sweetness that, Clarke felt, made it seem better, somehow, or truer. But such thoughts were swept entirely out of her brain when Lexa began kissing her back in earnest. Her fingers curled around the curve of Clarke’s waist, drawing her even nearer, and Clarke couldn't help the small whine that fell out of her mouth as she felt herself molding against the alpha’s body. All she could taste was Lexa, all she could smell was her mate’s unique scent, and when the alpha’s thumb – most likely entirely by accident – slipped under the hem of her shirt and began rubbing along the bare skin just above her waistband, she could feel the touch racing like fire through her entire body. It was too much, and entirely the wrong time and place – but all thoughts had fled her brain except two: _Need her_ and _More._

She arched against Lexa, tightening her arm around the alpha’s neck and digging the fingers of one hand into the soft curls at the nape of her neck. She was playing a little dirty, she thought hazily – she knew that Lexa was especially sensitive in that particular spot – but Clarke couldn't quite bring herself to care. Especially not when she heard the moan dragged out of her mate’s mouth at her actions, and felt the way Lexa buckled against her, as though she'd just gone weak at the knees. _She probably did,_ Clarke thought, and smirked against the Commander’s lips – until Lexa stole the opportunity to slip her tongue into Clarke’s mouth, and suddenly _she_ was the one gasping and clutching at Lexa for support.

Dizzy with sensation and want and desperate to take back some measure of control, Clarke unhooked her arm from around the alpha’s neck and moved her hand down Lexa’s front, glorying in the strength of the muscles flexing under her fingers. Then she wrapped her arm around the Commander’s waist, seized a handful of her firm ass, and squeezed hard.

The growl rattling out of Lexa’s chest was her only warning of what was to come, and then she was being turned roughly and pushed up against the wall beside the door. She was assailed by the curious sensation of being at once unable to breathe, with how incredible Lexa felt pressed against her, and able to breathe better than she could in months. A tight knot of tension and sadness and anger seemed to be uncoiling in her chest, and her lungs moved more freely than she could remember, now that she was here with her mate, with her mate’s hands on her, her mate’s body against hers, her mate’s lips moving with her own…

A high, needy whine broke her out of her reverie. Lexa pulled away, looking dazed and flushed and frowning like she didn't know which way was up, and Clarke felt similarly – although her own skin reddened with embarrassment when she realized that the whine had come from her. All at once Lexa seemed to remember where they were and what they were doing, and she stepped away from Clarke with some difficulty, her hands only leaving the omega’s body at the last moment and her fingers flexing as if in protest. “I'm sorry, Clarke,” she said in a low rumble, looking as though she was anything but. “I shouldn't have gotten so carried away. I know you're not ready…”

A note of uncertainty crept into the Commander’s voice at the last phrase, and Clarke only just managed to keep herself from pushing off the wall and dragging Lexa’s lips back down to meet hers, so that she could taste the reassurance and the desire Clarke desperately wanted to convey. “I _am_ ready,” she said instead, a bit breathlessly, and felt a hot coil of lust glow to life in her belly at the way those three words made the alpha’s eyes darken. “Just…”

“Not here,” Lexa said, a bit sheepishly, before turning to look out the window. “And not when I have a meeting with Titus that I’m already late for, unless I'm reading the time wrong.”

The exasperation in her voice made Clarke snicker, but it died in her throat when Lexa stepped closer once again. Taking Clarke’s hand, the alpha murmured, “After, though…when our people no longer need us…”

Clarke nodded, feeling herself getting lost in Lexa’s eyes, her nearness, and of course what she was saying… But Lexa was clearly looking for an answer, and as nervousness began to etch itself across her face again, Clarke gathered herself to give one.

“I’ll see you tonight, Commander.”

Lexa nodded, but she couldn't resist dipping her head and taking Clarke’s mouth in one last kiss. The omega returned it enthusiastically, but it was over too soon in her opinion – Lexa was pulling away with a pained expression, and making her way to the door. Clarke prepared to follow her out, but the alpha paused before she could, rummaging in a pocket of her coat. “My apologies, Clarke – I nearly forgot to give you this.” It was a key, warm from Lexa’s pocket and much less ornate than the one she wore around her wrist. “This place is yours whenever you care to visit. No matter how far from now that might be.”

Clarke took the key, feeling her throat grow thick again. _“Mochof, Heda,”_ was all she could manage to force out.

 _Tonight._ The word pounded in her head all the way back to Polis tower, as they forged through the evening crowds of merchants packing up their wares and tradesmen returning from their shops to their homes. It also throbbed low and steady between her legs, and she was sure that Lexa must have smelled her arousal even through the scent of thousands of other people that they passed, but the Commander gave no sign beyond a tightly clenched jaw.

Until the ride in the elevator back to the top of the tower, that was –in the enclosed space, the alpha’s concentrated scent washed over her, dizzying her and driving all other thoughts out of her head. _Oh, fuck. Remind me again why we can't just stop the elevator now…?_

Her reminder arrived in the form of Titus, who seemed to have an utterly demonic gift for timing. The elevator groaned to a halt and she had to stifle a growl of her own, but it emerged anyway as she caught sight of the beta standing on the other side of the doors. To her surprise, Lexa dared a quick touch to the inside of her wrist that somehow soothed her and set her skin aflame at the same time, before stepping out and saying briskly to her _Fleimkepa,_ “I know I'm late, Titus, _ai biyo moba._ I will see you later tonight, Clarke.”

The tone was brisk and businesslike, and the cloud of Lexa’s scent was already dissipating, leaving Clarke vaguely aroused and embarrassed, but she held onto that final word like a lifeline:

_Tonight._

 


	18. don't wanna wait till the next life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, yeah, I know, it's been half of forever. Have some sappy, smutty, fluffy sin and let me know what you think in the comments and on tumblr @n1ghtwr1ter!

_ Tonight. _

Lexa allowed the word to fill her brain, occupying it and expanding within until her entire body seemed to vibrate with it. Tonight, she and Clarke would be reunited, in a way that they had not been since before the Mountain fell. Tonight, she would take Clarke in her arms once more, would be permitted to give her omega pleasure and be granted her own in return. Tonight, perhaps, the words that had been trembling on her lips since their eyes had first met in her throne room, would finally be given voice.

_ Ai hod yu in… _

“-even listening to me,  _ Leksa?” _

But first, she had her duty. Barely managing to conceal a sigh, Lexa turned her attention to the man before her. Normally guarded, right now Titus’s beta smell was barely managing to conceal his fury, and the underlying scent of fear. Lexa felt a pang of guilt as she caught it, and held in a wince. It made sense that Titus would be angry and frightened – he had dedicated his life to raising and training the Commanders who would defend and maintain his world, and now that world was being upended by one of them.

He had been worried before, when she’d returned from the Mountain with nearly all of her army still intact, and dedicated her time and energy to reuniting the  _ Maunon’s  _ victims with their families. It had been a victory, but not the kind of victory to be expected under  _ jus drein jus daun.  _ Her actions had started a rumbling at the foundations of their world, but then Clarke’s had all but shattered them. When she had sent out scouts in search of  _ Wanheda,  _ he had heaved a momentary sigh of relief – nothing would work better to reinforce the order of things than to find the girl and kill her, absorbing her power into Lexa’s own. But when she had announced her true intent – that  _ Wanheda  _ was to be protected, and that her power would be obtained by willing submission and not by blood – for the first time, Lexa had seen Titus truly afraid.

“I am sorry,  _ ticha,”  _ she said, nodding to him as they continued down the darkened corridor towards the throne room. “I was…distracted.”

Titus let out a furious huff. “Yes, you were. And that is the very thing that I wanted to speak with you about. I am afraid that your distractions have grown more…involved, of late.”

Lexa eyed him narrowly, daring him with her look and scent to continue. She knew he would, of course – he had raised her, after all, and had known her for far too long to be intimidated by such a display. She had known him nearly her entire life, and was well aware that when Titus had an opinion on something, nothing short of a miracle or natural disaster would stop him from expressing it. While ordinarily she valued that opinion far above those of her other advisors, right now she knew exactly what he was going to say, and dreaded it.

“I am worried about your summit tomorrow,” Titus said, pale eyes boring into hers. “I have met and spoken with the  _ Bandrona  _ as they have arrived, and all of them are…concerned about your policies regarding  _ Skaikru.” _

“Concerned?” Lexa said, the hint of a smirk curving up her lips. Titus let out a huff.

“Very well,  _ Heda.  _ The ones I have spoken to are angry, but also worried about what your decision not to punish them may mean for our people, for our way of life,” the  _ Fleimkepa  _ said. He kept his voice low as they made their way into the throne room, conscious of the guards who opened the heavy doors for them, but his words shook with feeling.

They entered a small antechamber where they could be more certain of privacy, but Lexa waited until the door had shut behind them before turning to the beta. I'm sure that they are, Titus,” Lexa said, eyeing Titus narrowly, “but I think you also mean that  _ you  _ are angry, and that you are worried that I am not upholding the legacy of the Commander.”

Silence. While Lexa ordinarily would have derived glee from having been able to shut Titus up, now she found none. She had not realized just how much she still looked for his approval, even after her Ascension and the successful formation of her Coalition to defeat the Mountain. He was not much for praise – he had always been an exacting teacher – but he had made it clear that he found her to be an adequate Novitiate, which was about as close to commendation as she'd ever hoped to receive. And then, on the night of her Ascension, she had lain in bed, the pain of the wounds she’d received during her Conclave and the sting of her new tattoo absolutely nothing compared to the agony in her heart. The healer had offered her a draught to put her to sleep, that she might pass the worst of it in unconsciousness, but she had turned her face to the wall. This pain was hers alone to bear. As the  _ fisa  _ left the room, she had heard another set of footsteps enter, and she'd turned, preparing to scream at whoever it was to get out…but it was Titus.

She had watched dully as he took in every one of her wounds – the slash she’d received from Mara just as her blade had slit the older girl’s throat; the hole where Annapol’s hidden knife had bitten into her calf; and countless other cuts and gashes that she had sustained at the hands of the other  _ Natblida,  _ the ones she had grown up with like littermates, many of whom had died at her hands. When he had announced her victory, had raised her bloody fist in the air and pronounced her the next Commander, chosen by the Spirit of  _ Heda,  _ nothing in his face or scent had told her of anything but pride – in her accomplishment, in his duty having been fulfilled yet again. But now, pain and sorrow were etched across his features as they scanned her broken body. She knew that not all of his pain could have been for her – she was the survivor, after all, but he too had lost ones he had cared for. She had watched him silently, waiting to be told what to do, or informed of what her next duties were to be.

“I am sorry,” he had said at last, his words heavy as her heart, “but it had to be done. It is the only way to ensure that the Spirit of the Commander passes to the one best able to uphold it.”

She hadn’t responded. What was there to say? But Titus hadn’t seemed to expect an answer. Instead he approached her slowly, almost reverently, as though she were no longer an ordinary girl, one who ached and bled inside and out, but instead something larger than herself, immortal… “Put your forehead on the pillow,” he had told her, “and close your eyes. Do not move until it’s over.” She wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but obedience to Titus had been ingrained in her for so long that at this point it was instinct to do what he said. A second later, she felt his hand on the back of her head.

“Prepare to accept the Flame.”

Before she could ask what he meant by that, she’d felt a searing pain along the back of her neck, followed by a sensation unlike anything she’d ever felt. At first it was like a tickle, but it wasn’t just in her body – it was also in her brain. The feeling intensified, streaking along every nerve ending, until her entire self was alight with it. It was as though she was being examined by some vast, ancient being that could somehow break her down into the very building blocks of what she was, calculate their meaning, and then build her back up in one instant.

Her eyes rolled back, and she had clenched her teeth in an effort not to scream, because all of a sudden she was no longer alone in her head. A cacophony of voices filled her mind, buzzing like bees trapped in the cage of her skull, so loudly as to drown out her own thoughts, her own self. Desperately, she struggled to remember who she was so that she would not get sucked under their frantic tide, and as she did so the words resolved themselves into a question, spoken with many tongues:

_ WHO? _

The feeling had been of intense scrutiny, as though a great many were watching her and waiting for her answer with bated breath. Terrified, she kept to the mantra, hoping that the voices would not find her wanting and choose to obliterate her:

_ Lexa. I am Lexa. I am Lexa. I am… _

The last thing she was conscious of hearing before afternoon of the next day, when she woke up with fire in her mind, was Titus’s voice, as if from very far away:

_ “Ai ste somin gon yu, Leksa.” _

_ “Leksa!”  _ The same voice saying her name, but the inflection was different, discordant enough to remove her from her recollection. She let out a little gasp and jumped as she felt Titus’s hand on her arm, but his grip and eyes softened when they met hers and saw how far away she’d been. “Are you all right? Was it a vision?”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so…just a memory.” Her memories had grown far more clear and potent since the introduction of the Flame, and her choice of when to experience them was not entirely her own, but she didn’t think it was the Spirit trying to tell her something – not this time, anyway.

The beta sighed. “Did you understand anything I told you?”

Lexa didn’t bother trying to lie; he’d see through it anyway. She shook her head, giving him a dull look.  _ “Ai biyo moba, ticha.” _

Titus nodded, letting go of her arm, but his eyes remained on her, cloudy with concern. She wished there was some way to reassure him, but she knew that he would not be swayed – his stubbornness served him well in his duties, was probably even part of the reason why he’d been chosen for his office, but right now she wished he could be just a little more yielding.

“I am concerned about  _ Klark kom Skaikru.” _

Lexa sighed. There it was. She nodded, an invitation for Titus to make his thoughts known, even though she badly wanted to tell him that she would not hear any more on the matter. She did not even know if he would have listened to her anyway.

“You know our law,” Titus said, brow furrowed as though he could not understand why she, who knew their law so well and had upheld it until now, could now be straying so far.  _ “Jus drein, jus daun.  _ And yet you do not punish  _ Skaikru  _ for the actions of their leader. If  _ Azgeda  _ were to have done such a thing – were to have wiped out an entire  _ Trikru  _ army sent by you to defend them – you would punish them as befit their crime. Why, then, is  _ Skaikru  _ treated differently?”

Each word came out of his mouth haltingly, as though he could not quite believe he was saying it, did not  _ want  _ to be saying it. His syntax was passive, Lexa noted, like he did not want to accuse her of anything, and he could not quite meet her eyes. But as she watched him quietly throughout this speech, she noticed that his voice was shaking with agitation, so much that it had begun to filter through his bland beta scent. That discomfited her more than anything else, because Titus was the most controlled person she knew. And yet here was Titus, losing control of himself.

_ Maybe life should be about more than just surviving  _ echoed in her head, almost as though it was the voice of the Spirit.  _ Don’t we deserve better than that?  _ Now, as then, she answered,  _ Maybe we do,  _ and let the conviction fill her as she answered Titus.

“Our ways and our laws have served us for many years, have enabled us to survive,” Lexa said, as gently as she could. “But I believe it’s time for us to look beyond mere survival, to see what life could truly be without survival as its sole focus.”

“Without survival there can be no life,” he said vehemently. “That is a false dichotomy –”

“It’s not and you know it,” Lexa said, beginning to get slightly heated despite herself. “If all we can focus on is surviving – surviving the next war so that we might retaliate, and start the one after that – then what are we truly living for?”

They stared at each other for a long moment, each breathing somewhat harder than they might otherwise have done. Lexa herself felt, absurdly, like she was racing towards something, desperately trying to get to some point so that she could show Titus – what? That what she was doing wasn’t going to lead them to ruin? That it wasn’t just because of how she felt about Clarke? Cold washed through her as she wondered,  _ How can I convince him of it when I’m not certain it’s not just about her myself? _

“I did not come here to debate abstractions with you,  _ Leksa,”  _ Titus said at last, his voice tight. “I came here because I am concerned about the motivations for your decision regarding  _ Skaikru.” _

“About Clarke,” Lexa said flatly. “You don’t understand why I didn’t kill her, and take the power of  _ Wanheda  _ for myself. And you don’t understand why I haven’t killed her now, to make an example of her people’s treachery. Is that it?” She felt frustration boiling along her veins, and she turned away to hide the snarl that pulled at her lips. “I will not hear this again.”

“You will!” Titus shouted, and she whirled on him, growling, her fists clenched tight. But even though he shook with the strain of not submitting to the furious alpha pheromones pouring off her, he stood firm. “Your feelings for Clarke put both of you in danger!  _ Leksa,  _ I  _ beg  _ you to remember my teachings.  _ Hodnes laik kwelnes.”  _ His speech fell bitterly on Lexa’s ears, and she had to look away once more.  _ “Ste Heda, ste soulou.” _

_ Love is weakness. To be Commander is to be alone. _ She knew the words well, had learned them at Titus’s knee from the time she was small. For the longest time, they had been abstract concepts, simply teachings to be memorized and repeated when asked for. But then she had met Costia, had felt love burst into bloom within her, and they had been weeds in that garden, strangling and choking her. She had rebelled against them even as she tried to follow them, desperately hoping that maybe this time could be different, that maybe she could prove, by her actions, by her  _ being,  _ that this time Titus could be wrong – but ultimately she had failed.

“Do not make Clarke pay for your mistakes, as Costia did.”

Titus’s voice struck like an arrow directly at the ache still inside of her, a wound that, despite the years between now and when it had been dealt, still had not quite healed. “My mistakes?” she hissed, taking a step towards him and trying not to feel as satisfied as she did when he took a step back, eyes widening.  _ “Azgeda  _ cut off Costia’s head and presented it to me in front of my court, and I  _ invited them into my Coalition!” _

Her voice had begun low, but with each successive word it strengthened, gathering power and alpha command. Now the pain burst from her in a roar, effortlessly breaking through the iron bands of self-control and civility she had wrapped around her heart.  _ “I am more than capable of separating feelings from duty!” _

By this time, Titus was on his knees, showing his throat as she raged above him. She found herself panting harshly as though she had run a long way, and yet despite his submission, she could not shake the feeling that she had, somehow, lost.

“I am sorry,” she said, when she was able. She reached out a shaking hand and helped him to his feet. He did not meet her eyes at first, for which she was grateful – she wasn’t certain she could have held his gaze. She suspected that her outburst had revealed far more than she had intended – its vehemence had given the lie to her own words. They stood in silence for a few moments, Lexa practically vibrating with anxiety.

And then Titus looked up, and her fears were confirmed with by the worry in his gaze and voice. “You acknowledge that you have feelings for her, then.”

Lexa let out a hissed breath. More than ever, she wished that Anya were here – Anya, the only one she had told outright about Costia, even though they had all sort of known before the end. She would have made some quip, would have teased Lexa about her weakness without being cruel, and then they would have sat down to figure out what they were going to do about this. Even Gustus would have been better; he would not have had much to say, but he would have listened, truly listened – and Lexa realized it had been a long time since she truly felt  _ heard.  _ Her bones ached for Clarke, but she knew that fleeing to her mate’s embrace would do nothing more than compound the problem. No, right now she faced a choice: to continue lying to Titus, or to face the consequences of her feelings head-on.

_ I’m done hiding. _

“Yes,” she said, before she could think better of it, and then, in a sudden rush of what was either courage or stupidity – probably both – she reached up and drew aside the collar of her jacket, revealing her mating mark. Titus flinched and sucked in an audible breath.

“You and  _ Wanheda…” _

“Yes,” Lexa repeated, low but firm, allowing the fabric to slide back into place. “I  _ do  _ care for Clarke, but my feelings for her have not influenced my actions.” She could see the disbelief in Titus’s eyes, although his scent remained filtered with worry and agitation. “My decision would have been the same whether Clarke was my mate or not.”

“As  _ Heda,  _ your first duty  _ must _ be to your people,” the  _ Fleimkepa  _ said slowly, as though he couldn’t quite believe he had to explain this to her. “If Clarke is your mate – if she stayed your hand when you would have otherwise struck –”

“She  _ did  _ stay my hand,” Lexa said urgently, “by reminding me of my duty!  _ Skaikru are  _ my people now. They are part of the Coalition –”

“They rejected the Coalition!”

“– and they are entitled to my protection, just as  _ Trikru  _ or  _ Azgeda  _ or  _ Louwoda  _ would be. And that includes giving them the opportunity to punish those responsible for their crimes, instead of wiping them out in their entirety.”

“Blood must have blood,” Titus thundered, nostrils flaring with the force of his words. “That is our way, and as  _ Heda  _ it is your duty, your sacred charge, to uphold our way! The one whom  _ Skaikru  _ elected to lead them  _ murdered  _ three hundred of your people in cold blood, and it is your duty to exact vengeance! And if you will not,  _ Heda… _ ” He paused as though struggling to master himself, shaking his head, before his eyes snapped back up to meet hers, full of a fervor that chilled her to the bone: “Then your people will.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, Lexa’s mind racing with the dire import of what Titus was saying. “Denied justice, your people will rise against your rule,” he said, low and urgent. “They will wipe  _ Skaikru  _ from the face of the earth, but they will not stop there. They will break the bonds of your Coalition, and they will turn on each other. Everything we have worked for – everything you have  _ sacrificed  _ –” and now Lexa had to suck in a breath like she’d been stabbed, a thin blade piercing her heart, because she knew what he meant – knew  _ who  _ he meant – “will be in vain.” Her eyes filled, but she forced the tears back, refusing to show him just how badly she was hurting. “The Commander’s peace will be over,” Titus continued, his voice gentler now, as though he could tell anyway, “and your  _ Hedon  _ will be no more.”

The import of his words rang in her ears long after he’d finished speaking, and she felt each reverberation like a physical blow. It was all she could do to stand firm before him, as wave after wave of guilt and fear and sorrow washed over the rock of her convictions. She wanted to fall to her knees and ask forgiveness, to beg him to tell her what she should do next…but she couldn’t. The blackness of the future Titus had painted was shot through with just the tiniest amount of light, and that was Clarke and their children.

“Are you truly willing to give up the peace you have fought for all of your lives for one omega?” Titus asked, and smiled sadly as though he had already received her capitulation.

“No,” Lexa said, and his smile broadened. She took a deep breath, firming herself for what she had to do. “I am not doing it just for Clarke. I am doing it for all of us.”

Titus’s smile dropped instantly. “You are dooming us. Our people – our  _ world _ – cannot survive this.”

Lexa lifted her chin. “Maybe it’s time for our people to see that there’s more to life than just surviving.”

Titus shook his head.  _ “Heda,  _ please…I beg you to reconsider. Have I not always had our people’s best interests at heart? Have I not always guided you well?”

She felt a pang in her heart at his words, but willed herself to remain firm. “You have…and I know you mean well,  _ Ticha.  _ But this is what’s right for our people.  _ Jus drein jus daun  _ is over.  _ Oso na teik trei-de gon ogonzaun.” _

When Titus continued to shake his head, looking like he did not believe it,  _ could  _ not believe it, Lexa knew that there was nothing more she could do – at least, not now.  _ He will have to come to it in his own time, in his own way,  _ said a voice in her head, one that sounded suspiciously like the Spirit. As painful as it was to pass by her  _ ticha  _ without a backward glance, as much as it felt like she had lost the last person who had truly known her before she was  _ Heda,  _ when she was just the girl Lexa, it gave her a measure of peace to think that the Spirit of the Commander believed in her and believed that her new path, that of peace, was right.

Still, as she made her way with heavy steps along the corridor to the stairs, she felt bruised and battered inside, as though she had fought a war beneath her skin. Passing by a large mirror, her own appearance caught the corner of her eye, making her jump – she looked pale and exhausted, almost fragile. Ordinarily it would have made her snarl, but right now she was too tired. She wondered what Clarke would think when she saw Lexa this way –  _ hardly the proud alpha,  _ she thought bitterly. In truth, she felt entirely drained, almost unable to hold her head up under the weight of the other Commanders in her mind. Their legacies – their wars, their policies, their treaties and ceasefires – felt like a lead-lined cloak, blanketing her with the constant knowledge that what she was doing was wrong.

_ Not wrong,  _ she tried to tell herself,  _ different.  _ But she couldn’t quite make herself believe it.

Lexa climbed the rest of the way to her room, the steps seeming like mountains to her leaden feet. Part of her just wanted to give in, to lie down where she stood and just rest for a while, but it wouldn’t do for anyone to see the Commander’s weakness, even if weak was all she felt. So she made herself keep going, step after step, made herself respond when her guards hailed her, made herself dismiss them to the bottom of the steps up to her room and allow no one to enter except  _ Klark kom Skaikru.  _ She couldn’t quite meet their eyes as she said that, but if they found the order odd, they said nothing.

The door thudded shut behind her, and at last she was alone. She made her way woodenly to the center of the room, and then paused there, the emotions of the day churning through her and stopping her dead. She knew she should light a few candles, should take off her boots and get into bed and try and figure out what she could say to Clarke – but she couldn’t go anywhere, couldn’t do anything but stare at the incomprehensible patterns of the rug. She felt trapped in the eye of a hurricane, but the storm was inside of herself, and there was no escape. Heat and pressure prickled at her temples, but no tears fell. She couldn’t even cry to let the feeling out.

“Lexa?”

Clarke’s voice, returning a measure of calm to her, but it was not enough. She remained there in the center of the room as the door creaked open quietly, and remained standing there as her mate entered. “Lexa, why are you just standing here in the dark?” And then, with a bit more urgency, “Did something happen? Did Titus – what did he say to you?”

Her mate’s hands were on her, filling her with cool relief, but the storm remained. Still, she could smell Clarke’s agitation, and knew it would only add to her own. “Lexa, please –”

“Nothing that was not the truth,” she intoned flatly, and Clarke’s hands stopped rubbing her arms. There was a brief pause, and then the omega drew a breath.

“Lexa, please…tell me what’s wrong.”

It made her nearly sick to think about confiding her feelings in another person, even if it  _ was  _ Clarke, but she reasoned with herself that her mate would have it out of her anyhow. She had always been like an open book before Clarke, and she could either control how the narrative escaped, or risk it coming out in rage and pain, in ways that she couldn’t plan.

“I…spoke with Titus.” Even though it was just the barest of facts, the words felt like razor blades rising through her throat, slicing at her mouth. She had to shut her eyes and press her lips shut for a moment.

“Lexa…” Clarke’s voice was all cool concern. “You’re shaking.”

She shook her head. She couldn’t  _ do  _ this – it was almost too much to bear on her own, and Clarke was asking her to share the burden before she had even figured out how to shoulder it herself! She was on the verge of telling Clarke to leave, to just come back tomorrow,  _ please,  _ I’m so sorry but I need to figure out how to handle this – when Clarke’s hands dropped off her shoulders. She couldn’t help it – a whine escaped her mouth at the loss of her mate’s touch.

She hated herself for it passionately a moment later, but it couldn’t be taken back. Clarke didn’t mock her for the weakness, however – her voice was full of sympathy as she said, “I’ll be right back, Lexa. I just want to get us some light.”

She couldn’t do anything but nod, and Clarke reached out to give her shoulder a final squeeze. Lexa remained staring at the floor, but she could hear the omega moving about the room, and slowly the darkness was replaced by the soft warm glow of candlelight. Clarke’s scent filtered gradually through the room, and in it Lexa found the strength to unbend her stiff neck, and make herself look up.

Clarke was dressed in the same blue nightgown she’d worn the evening after her fight with Roan. It flared out becomingly around her curves, and while its flowing fabric would have concealed her pregnancy against eyes that were not looking for it, Lexa found her eyes drawn to the subtle curve she knew was there. Her pups – her flesh and blood, her children – were growing in there, dreaming, waiting to be born. All at once it came back to her in a flash – the reason why she was doing this. It wasn’t just Clarke. It was so that their pups could be born into a better world, a world in which lasting peace was a possibility. It was so they could have more than just survival – so they could live and love and flourish.

At last Lexa found the courage to meet Clarke’s eyes, and in those eyes she found her voice. “I spoke with Titus,” she said again. Her voice sounded rusty to her ears, as though it had not been used in a long while, but it grew stronger with each word she spoke. “He was worried that my…feelings,” and here she had to swallow at the word, her stomach roiling, “for you were coloring my judgement, and making me lose sight of my duty.”

Clarke stopped in the middle of reaching for her hand. “Lexa…”

The alpha shook her head, stepping nearer to Clarke and taking her hand before it could fall back to her side. “I can’t deny what I feel for you, not any longer. And I can’t say that it doesn’t influence my decisions, to think of what the world could be like for us, for our –” she had to swallow again, fighting back the hope beating frantically inside of her chest – “for our pups, if there wasn’t always the threat of another war on the horizon. But I realized that my – that how I feel for you,” and here she growled, furious at her inability to say what she truly meant – that she loved  _ Klark kom Skaikru  _ with every particle of her being, with the last breath in her lungs and the last beat of her heart – “doesn’t make me weak. It gives me the strength to do what’s right.”

Somehow she managed to keep her eyes on Clarke’s throughout her speech, and she watched them go from cloudy with worry to bright with feeling, and then glistening with tears. The Sky girl’s mouth hung open just a bit, and Lexa practically vibrated with anxiety over trying to interpret the expression on her face – shock? Surprise? Misery? It could have been any of them. She began gathering the scraps of her defenses as though she had not torn them asunder herself, as though she had not just laid her own soul bare, feebly attempting to prepare for a rejection that would destroy her utterly. She was not prepared for Clarke to step closer, cup her cheek with one warm, shaking palm, and press her lips to Lexa’s.

For a long moment she could scarcely breathe, let alone believe that this was happening, that this was real. Then she tasted the tang of salt on her lips, and realized that it was Clarke’s tears – and, if the heat that had finally burst from her eyes was any indication, her own mingled with them. All of a sudden the numbness that had permeated her limbs fled, and her body was flooded by something like a rush of light. It took Lexa a moment – a moment spent only in the contemplation of the blissful movement of Clarke's mouth against her own – to realize what it was: pure joy.

Suddenly she and Clarke were clinging to one another, and she could not hold back her smile or her sobs. Clarke’s scent was all around her, her hands were fisted in Lexa's shirt, her body warm against the alpha's. Lexa couldn’t find the words to perfectly describe it, because words had fled in the rush of sensation and emotion. All she could think was that it felt something like peace, something like home.

Clarke made a noise that was half a laugh, half a sob, and Lexa found herself clutching pulling her mate even closer. Her hands gripped Clarke's hips hard enough to bruise, but if it hurt, the omega gave no sign – she just pressed herself against Lexa even harder. As bruised and torn as her soul felt, arousal stirred in her belly to have her mate this close, and constantly trying to get closer, as though they could move beyond mere skin and become one flesh and blood. Then Clarke's hand slipped down from Lexa's collar and traced the plane of her stomach, trembling as it moved lower and lower. When it came to rest on Lexa’s belt, the alpha growled.

“Clarke.”

Through the haze of arousal overtaking her – a haze she could sense was only part hers, which made it all the more intoxicating – she was aware of a desperate need to know what this was about, what it meant for them. With an internal wrench, she managed to pull her mouth away from Clarke's so she could look into the omega's eyes.

“Lexa…”

The look on Clarke’s face stopped her heart. It was longing, it was desperation, it was need… More than anything, however, it reminded her of the way Clarke had looked at her all those months back, just before the battle for Mount Weather had torn them from each other, when she had chosen her head over her heart, her duty to her people over her love for her mate.  _ Never again,  _ she swore to herself. She was in the process of changing the world so she would never have to make that choice again.

“I love you,” she said, for the first time since then, even though she had felt it on the tip of her tongue every day since she had first seen Clarke again. Internally, she quailed – it was all out there now, wasn’t it, and Clarke was going to see just how much she meant to Lexa, and she was going to say –

“I love you, too.”

Lexa couldn’t help herself – her jaw dropped open. She had not been expecting to hear that, not yet, but the truth of it was plain in Clarke’s eyes and her scent. She snapped her mouth shut a moment later, but she couldn’t help the wide grin that spread across her face, nor the tears that filtered even more freely from her eyes.

“You love me.”

“Yes,” Clarke whispered, reaching up to touch her face as though she could scarcely believe Lexa was real. “I do.”

And then Lexa stepped closer and brought their bodies together once more and kissed her, with all the passion and longing and fierceness she had held back for so long thrilling through her body. She never wanted to be parted from Clarke ever again, knowing this, and even though she knew that was impossible – the world had been doing its best to part them since their lips had first touched, and it wasn’t going to stop anytime soon – she wanted to make this moment – this night – last as long as she possibly could. Because tonight, she didn’t belong to her people. Tonight, she was giving herself to Clarke.

So when Clarke’s hands roamed along her body again, setting her skin alight, Lexa didn’t stop or pull away, even though Titus’s words still rang in her head:  _ You are dooming us. We cannot survive this.  _ Instead, she focused solely on the sensations that her mate’s touch was creating. As Clarke’s hands rounded her hips and gripped the curve of her ass, she let out a gasp against the omega’s mouth, and felt her grin. With a low growl, she nipped Clarke’s bottom lip and was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath, and then a quiet whimper. When she pulled away, Clarke looked furious with herself – but determined to get her own back.

But that wasn’t how she wanted this. She didn’t want it to be a duel between them, not this time; this was a homecoming, and she wanted their lovemaking to reflect that. So when Clarke leaned in once more, fire in her eyes as she reached for Lexa’s belt, she gently drew her mate’s hands away. “Wait,” she said, a little breathlessly. She could feel the shaft of her clit thickening and extending, starting to strain against her pants, and while she burned to feel Clarke’s hands on her, she wanted something else more. The omega frowned at being stymied, and then concern crept into her scent.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Lexa said honestly, “just…there’s something I want to do for you. Will you let me?”

Clarke bit her lip, looking at her for a long moment, and then nodded. Lexa felt relief filter through her, as well as renewed desire. She dipped her head again and kissed Clarke tenderly, while walking her back to the bed, hands on the omega’s hips to keep her steady. When they reached it, she pressed Clarke gently down into the furs and settled herself over her mate. She felt Clarke reaching for her eagerly, taking hold of the hem of Lexa’s shirt and attempting to draw it over her head, but she batted the omega’s hands away. When Clarke let out a whine, pouting at her, Lexa just laughed.

“A little bit of patience, Clarke.”

“You know that was never my strong suit,” Clarke replied, and Lexa was gratified to hear that she wasn’t the only one feeling a little breathless.

“I promise to make it worth your effort,” Lexa said, with only the barest hint of mockery. After a moment of contemplation, Clarke nodded.

Lexa dipped her head to kiss Clarke again, but didn’t allow herself to revel too long in the feel of the omega’s mouth moving hungrily against her own. Instead, she trailed her lips along her mate’s jawline and down the curve of her neck, causing Clarke to moan and arch against Lexa. The feeling of the Sky girl’s body pressed to hers was almost too much – she let out a low growl, her hands clenching in the fabric of Clarke’s skirts – but choked it off into a whine at her own self-deprivation. Everything in her wanted to  _ take  _ Clarke, to re-assert her claim over her mate, and it was clear from the way the omega was panting and writhing beneath her that Clarke wanted that too, but she needed to do this right.

And so she forced herself to slow down even further, kissing and nipping at Clarke’s neck and then licking to soothe the bites until her breathing had steadied. Clarke whimpered, hands roaming eagerly along Lexa’s body, seeking to urge her on, but the Commander gently seized her wrists and pressed them above her head. It only took a slight exertion of her alpha pheromones, and a long look, before Clarke stilled beneath her, whimpering again and showing her throat, where Lexa’s mating mark stood out starkly in the candles’ glow.

The display of submission nearly made her lose her resolve, but she was able to control herself long enough to slip further down Clarke’s body, her hands delving under the voluminous skirts of the nightdress and sliding along the omega’s thighs. They parted at her touch, even though she hadn’t urged it, and Lexa couldn’t hold back a moan at the smell that arose from between her mate’s legs – the mouthwateringly sweet scent of omega, of  _ her  _ omega, of Clarke, calling to her like nothing ever had before. She felt herself swelling even further, straining painfully with the need to be inside of Clarke, to feel herself wrapped in silken heat – but instead, she made herself stop when the dress’s fabric reached Clarke’s knees, and look up.

Her mate’s eyes were dark with desire, pupils blown wide with desperation, and Lexa couldn’t help herself – her mouth dropped open and she panted at the sight of how much Clarke wanted her,  _ needed  _ her.  _ Words,  _ she thought frantically,  _ use your words, damn you –  _ even though words seemed painfully inadequate for such a moment – but she needed to know, needed to make sure –

“Clarke…can I?”

“Yes,” the omega gasped out, lifting her hips for Lexa to slide the dress further up her body, and then sitting up and raising her arms so that the alpha could draw it over her head. And then she was naked before Lexa, bare and glowing in the candlelight, and Lexa was so,  _ so  _ weak. All she could do for a long moment was stare, not quite able to believe that the goddess beneath her was here, was  _ hers _ . But it wasn’t long before Clarke started to squirm, and to her surprise, Lexa realized that Clarke was blushing.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Clarke said, too hastily, her fingers curling in the furs below her. Lexa knew she was lying but she couldn’t think of anything to say, so instead she just lowered her body once more and kissed her mate with fierce tenderness.

It was the right thing to do. Clarke’s mouth opened under hers with a sudden gasp, and her hands flew up to grasp at Lexa’s shoulders, her back – “Off,” she murmured against the alpha’s lips. When Lexa drew back with a questioning look, she continued, “I want to feel you too.” Lexa smiled at her before sitting back on her heels and drawing her shirt over her head.

Clarke’s hands immediately flew to her stomach, tracing the lines of fire over the muscles in her abdomen, and Lexa was breathless again in short order. But she was sure that Clarke must be feeling exposed, and while she felt exactly the same way even with all of her clothes on, she thought it might put her mate’s mind at ease to erase that difference between them. So as Clarke’s fingers explored, relearning her form, she reached back and undid the fastenings of the binding around her breasts, letting them fall free.

Clarke’s hands went to cup them immediately, thumbs brushing across Lexa’s stiff and straining nipples and making her gasp. But she was not content to simply enjoy this treatment, no matter how good it felt. Instead, she moved to reciprocate, doing what her fingers had ached to do since she had first seen Clarke’s body revealed before her. She grasped each firm handful, her own fingers stroking and pinching Clarke’s nipples gently until the omega was writhing beneath her, eyes squeezed shut. Seizing the opportunity, she leaned down and took one stiff peak into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it and reveling in the noises she was drawing from Clarke’s throat.

She could have done this forever, but she felt a hand tangling in her hair, tugging gently. When she looked up, Clarke gasped out, “Lexa, don’t tease,” and it had the air of a plea. She leaned up and kissed her in answer, then kissed her way across Clarke’s chest to latch onto her other breast, unwilling to deny it the same treatment. Clarke made a noise that was half a growl and half a moan, and Lexa chuckled around her mate’s nipple. But she knew she wasn’t going to be able to deny herself for much longer, especially when each stroke of her tongue seemed to make the smell emanating from between the omega’s legs just a little stronger.

With a final nip that made Clarke gasp, she let go of the omega’s nipple and began kissing her way down the firm, smooth plane of her mate’s body. She couldn’t help spending a little extra time on Clarke’s stomach, stroking and pressing kisses along the gentle curve and enjoying the way it made the omega shudder. But Clarke’s hand was still in her hair, pressing her gently downward, and she was in no mood to deny her mate anything. With a final kiss to the crest of Clarke’s belly, Lexa continued her ministrations, reveling in each gasp and moan and soft cry. And then she was in between the cradle of Clarke’s pelvis, gazing at her prize.

Clarke’s cunt was already glistening for her, lips pouting open and opening gently pulsing. Lexa could have stared at it for a long time, but her mate’s entire body was tense with need, and when she looked up for a final approval, Clarke’s eyes were wide and dark with it. “Yes, Lexa, please, god –” And so she dipped her head, and lost herself in her Clarke’s wetness.

At the first long stroke of her tongue, Clarke’s taste filled Lexa’s mouth, and she couldn’t help moaning against her lover’s soaked folds. The scent had been incredible, but words couldn’t describe the way Clarke felt and tasted – it was beyond anything Lexa had ever dreamed of, and even as she devoured Clarke she was hungry for more. She sucked one of Clarke’s lips into her mouth and then the other, and was rewarded with another rush of slick against her face, which she eagerly lapped up. She took her time exploring every facet of the omega, even as Clarke’s hips jerked against her mouth and her mate’s hands, tangled in her braids, urged her towards where she knew the omega most wanted stimulation.

_ “Fuck,  _ Lexa,” she heard Clarke gasp above her, through gritted teeth. “I told you don’t –  _ ah –  _ tease, I can’t take it –  _ nn,  _ so good, there, more – Lexa,  _ please…” _

As much as she was enjoying the constant stream of filthy words falling from her mate’s lips, she was far too desperate herself to drag this out much longer. So, with one last long swipe of her tongue along the length of Clarke’s slit, she fastened her lips around the omega’s clit and began to suck.

Clarke arched, her entire body stretching in one taut line towards Lexa’s mouth. As the alpha licked and nibbled and sucked at her clit, her moans increased in volume and rapidity, each one music to Lexa’s ears. If she could go on doing this forever, tasting Clarke’s wetness and hearing her moans and watching her body tremble for her, she would, but she could tell by the way Clarke was twitching in her mouth that the omega was on the edge. She found that even more than she wanted to enjoy Clarke’s reactions, she wanted to taste her omega’s release.

She set to her task with eagerness and delight, lashing the head of Clarke’s clit with her tongue and tormenting the needy bud with a relentless onslaught of stimulation. It was greatly appreciated, if Clarke’s moans and cries were anything to go by, as well as the way her hands clenched harder and her thighs clamped tighter around Lexa’s head. Soon she could hardly hear her mate, but it didn't matter – she was utterly engulfed in Clarke’s scent, her taste, the warmth of her skin. She felt like she was drowning in the omega, and the end was a sweet one.

Eventually, she was drawn out of her pleasurable haze long enough to realize that Clarke was chanting something that made her pulse inside of her pants and groan against her mate’s soaked folds. “Lexa, please, Lexa, inside, I need you inside me, please, please, Lexa,  _ please…” _

She was helpless to deny Clarke anything, and she wouldn't have wanted to either way. Lexa swirled the tip of her fingers around the omega’s spilling entrance, gathering the copious amounts of wetness that escaped her eager tongue. Then, with Clarke loudly declaring that she couldn't stand it anymore, Lexa needed to fuck her  _ now,  _ she thrust two fingers into her mate’s slick channel.

She couldn't hold back a moan as Clarke’s silken warmth engulfed her, swallowing her fingers and clamping down around them as though begging for more. Dimly, she was aware that the omega was, in fact, begging for more – “Please, Lexa,  _ please,  _ need you to fill me, fuck me, more, harder –”

With a low growl that made Clarke shiver against her mouth, she obliged, pushing  another finger inside of the omega and then curling them all upwards to reach the pulsing, swollen spot on her front wall that she knew would drive Clarke mad. She wasn't wrong. The omega keened, hips jerking wildly as a flood spilled out of her to coat Lexa’s lips. It was over far too soon for the alpha, but she couldn't deny that it was an incredible ending: Clarke arching, eyes squeezed shut and mouth open wide in a long, silent scream. Then her inner walls went wild around Lexa’s fingers, squeezing them relentlessly. She continued thrusting throughout Clarke’s orgasm, determined to milk every last drop of pleasure possible from it.

Then the omega collapsed, gasping and shuddering, and slumped bonelessly against the pillows. “Fuck,” was the first thing Lexa heard when Clarke’s thighs fell apart. “God, Lexa…” Her eyes met the alpha’s, hazy with pleasure, but there was something questioning in them as well that tugged at Lexa’s heart. When Clarke’s fingers tightened gently in her hair, drawing her upwards, she came willingly, although she was loath to lose the omega’s slick heat and tantalizing scent. But when she pressed a kiss to her mate’s still-trembling lips, her regrets melted away as their bodies molded together.

Lexa wished she could have been content to simply kiss Clarke down from her high, but her own need had caught up with her. She could feel herself throbbing against the omega’s thigh and tried to restrain herself, but she couldn't help it – the sensation of Clarke’s cunt clasping her fingers, warm and wet and smooth, burned in her brain. In desperation, she reached down to take herself in hand, hoping to stave off her need long enough for Clarke to recover from her orgasm, but her fingers were brushed aside by Clarke’s.

At the omega’s first gentle touch, Lexa let out a groan, her cock pulsing, pre-come pearling at its tip. Clarke gasped delightedly against her lips, her thumb rubbing at the bead of wetness and smearing it across the head. The alpha was soon reduced to a mess of needy sighs and moans at her mate’s ministrations, even though Clarke was barely stroking her, just spreading the droplets of wetness around and getting her ready. It took every ounce of self-control Lexa had to keep from spilling into the omega’s hand like a pup. When Clarke reached down to gather some of her own wetness and use it to slick the alpha’s shaft even further, the only thing that kept her from releasing there and then was the thought of doing so inside of her mate.

Finally, however, Clarke seemed to find her acceptably soaked, because she moved Lexa’s cock down to press against her opening, teasing her own entrance with the head. The alpha groaned, eyes squeezing shut as she felt the omega pulsing against her. It took everything she had to keep her hips still, when all she could think about was thrusting forward into the slick and clinging warmth…

“Hey, are you okay?” Clarke asked, one hand coming up to cup Lexa’s cheek. The alpha’s eyes flew open to see her mate’s gaze shining with such concern, such tenderness and love, that she couldn't speak – her chest was too tight with answering emotions to allow for words. All she could do was nod.

“Are you ready?” The slight breathlessness of the omega’s words reassured her that this was not just something she wanted, something Clarke was grudgingly allowing – her omega, her mate, wanted her too.

“Yes,” she whispered hoarsely, hands finding a grip on Clarke’s hips that felt so right, so perfectly familiar, it was as though she had never let go. The omega nodded back at her, warmth and desire glowing in her gaze, and then she reached up, winding her arms around Lexa’s neck.

“Please, Lexa…take me.”

And then she was pushing forward, the head of her cock catching at Clarke’s entrance, pressed against so much warmth and slick that she couldn't keep from groaning. She didn't want to hurt Clarke, but she couldn't stop her hips from continuing to thrust forward, slowly, inexorably. The omega’s breath caught in her chest and she shivered against Lexa – until the head popped inside, and several inches as well, engulfed in wet, clasping heat.

She couldn't move, could barely even breathe with how incredible it felt. And incredible it was – she could scarcely believe that even with everything that had happened, everything that had tried – and was still trying – to keep them apart, she was here, inside of her mate, and Clarke was gasping and pressing closer, hips trembling upwards and urging her to keep going in a low, desperate undertone. She obliged, pushing her hips forward and sinking inch after inch of herself into the tight clasp of Clarke’s channel. Before long, their hips met, and she was sheathed fully inside of her mate.

She wanted to shut her eyes, to get control of her breathing and of her thoughts, but she couldn't. Something in Clarke’s eyes was tugging at her like a magnet, pulling her inexorably deeper into the vast ocean of blue. All she could do was stare at the girl beneath her, unable to understand how something so beautiful, so perfect, could have come to be hers. But she could feel Clarke shivering against her, and when the omega leaned up to press a kiss to her lips, she couldn't keep from murmuring,  _ “Ai hod yu in.” _

_ “Ai hod yu in seintaim, Leksa,”  _ Clarke gasped out, “but please, god, I need you to move…”

She couldn't have refused, even if she wanted to. Her hips jerked once, twice, before stuttering into a rhythm of slow, deep strokes, pulling out until only the tip of her cock remained nestled within Clarke’s inner walls, and then driving in until she was fully sheathed once again in warm, clutching silk. Each thrust drove a moan from Clarke’s throat, a deep, guttural noise that made Lexa throb, but she gritted her teeth against the unreleased pressure pounding along her shaft. This felt indescribably wonderful, getting to relearn Clarke’s body, and she didn't want to hurry it or waste even a moment.

Clarke, however, had other thoughts. Her hands were everywhere – raking lines of fire down Lexa’s back, reaching down to grasp her ass and pull her closer – and her cunt clutched so tightly around Lexa’s driving shaft that it seemed she didn’t want to give her up, even though she moaned every time the alpha pushed back in. Lexa was keenly attuned to her every noise and movement, drinking in the way she writhed when the alpha latched on to her breast and worried at her nipple with her teeth; exulting in the sharp cry she earned when she adjusted the angle of her strokes; and reveling in the way Clarke’s exhortations of “Faster, Lexa, damn you” trailed off into breathless whimpers when she upped the pace just the tiniest bit.

But finally, Clarke was so tight around her that it was getting hard to thrust, and her inner walls were pulsing rhythmically around Lexa’s cock. The alpha knew it wouldn’t take much to send her over the edge, and she wanted it – no, she needed it. She needed to feel Clarke’s release, to feel the omega coming around her, to know that it was because of her. To know that Clarke had accepted her back into her life, and into her heart, enough to let Lexa do this for her – to let Lexa make her come.

So she gave in to Clarke’s gasped demands, beginning to pump faster and harder, and was rewarded with moans and whimpers of pleasure. At the same time, she reached down from where she had been palming her mate’s breast, and began stroking the needy bud of Clarke’s clit. The result was a fresh flood of wetness coating her thighs, a high keen from the omega beneath her, and an impossible tightening of Clarke’s cunt around her. The sensations all combined to tear a groan from her own throat, and suddenly she was trembling on the edge herself. But she would sooner throw herself off the top of Polis tower than let herself come before she’d brought her mate release.

As though Clarke could hear her thoughts, the omega moaned, “God, Lexa, I’m so close – just – harder, faster,  _ please!”  _ With a growl, she obeyed, resuming her bruising grip on Clarke’s hips and driving into her mate as powerfully as she could. Then, driven by a sudden bright spark of instinct, she leaned over and bit down hard on the place where she had claimed her omega all those months ago.

Clarke screamed, her inner walls fluttering wildly as she released a tidal wave of slick around Lexa’s cock. Her nails dug hard into the alpha’s back, but the bright edge of pain faded into the rush of pleasure washing over Lexa as she felt her own orgasm take hold. Suddenly she was groaning as she shot jet after jet of come into Clarke’s deepest places, filling her omega with her release. They shuddered and gasped and writhed in each other’s arms, each seeking to draw the other impossibly closer, their bodies drawn into twin taut lines that formed the shape of each other’s pleasure.

Lexa’s orgasm felt like it went on forever, but eventually it had to come to an end. As the last pulses of Clarke’s orgasm rippled around Lexa’s cock, and the last spurts of her release spilled into the omega, she found herself staring into Clarke’s eyes. She was acutely aware, all of a sudden, of the vulnerability of such a moment. There was nothing between them – no duty, no longing, no imminent parting. She had to fight the sudden urge to hide from the omega’s wide, searching gaze.

“What’s wrong?” Clarke whispered, and the worry that suffused her scent was enough to bring Lexa back to her senses.

“Nothing is wrong,” she told her mate, kissing her tenderly after each word. “Absolutely nothing is wrong.” And it was true. For once, for this briefest of moments, everything was right. She was sure that come tomorrow, the world would be dark and harsh and rough again, full of traps and pitfalls, full of duties and loyalties and demands that would seek to tear them from each other again. But tonight, they would not be parted. Tonight, there was no  _ Heda  _ or  _ Wanheda,  _ no mountains to fell and no enemies to fight. There was only Lexa, and only Clarke. And that was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigedasleng:
> 
> Ai hod yu in: I love you  
> Ticha: teacher  
> Ai biyo moba: I’m sorry  
> *Somin: proud (from somines, the Trig word for pride)  
> Oso na teik trei-de gon ogonzaun: We will walk the path of peace.  
> Seintaim: also


	19. born to make history

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think in the comments and on tumblr @n1ghtwr1ter.

Dawn woke Clarke, lancing through the windows of Lexa’s tower room. As wrapped up in one another as they were, they had not drawn the curtains, and she found herself blearily blinking the first rays of the sun out of her eyes. Still, she couldn’t find it in herself to be upset about it, especially when she turned and saw them falling softly across the face of her still-sleeping mate.

In sleep, all of the worries and cares of Lexa’s position, all of the things she had done, the lives she had taken and the sacrifices she had made to bring her people peace, fell away from the alpha, leaving her looking vulnerable, open, and so, so achingly young. In sleep, Lexa wasn’t a ruthless warrior, a ruler with the voices of her predecessors in her mind; instead, she was the girl she might have been, if she had not been born with blood the color of outer space, and had not been chosen by the Spirit of the Commander to lead her people. Clarke had noticed this transformation before, but it never failed to bring a smile to her lips and a bittersweet pang to her heart.

As she gazed at her mate’s sleeping form, memories of the previous night filtered through her mind – the fire Lexa’s lips had traced along her body, the brewing heat between her legs, the noises the alpha’s hands and tongue and cock had coaxed from her mouth, the love and awe in Lexa’s eyes as she had entered Clarke for the first time since… But it didn’t bear thinking of. What was done, was done. She and Lexa were returned to each other now, had pledged their love anew, and the ache between Clarke’s legs and the happiness in her heart that was rising like the sun was testament to that.

Clarke could have gone on looking at Lexa for a long time, just watching her sleep and pretending that the peace she saw on her mate’s face wouldn’t be broken as soon as she woke, but then Lexa stirred. At first Clarke thought nothing of it, but then Lexa’s whole body flinched violently, launching the alpha into wakefulness. Her eyes stared around the room wildly, as though searching for invisible enemies, and her breath came in harsh gasps, her shoulders heaving under Clarke’s hands as the omega sought to soothe her.

“It’s okay, Lexa, you’re okay, you’re safe, I’m here, we’re okay,” she murmured, rubbing her hands up and down her mate’s arms as Lexa continued to suck in large gulps of air, her scent heavy with fear. “It was just a dream,” Clarke said, hoping to draw the alpha into the real world and out of whatever nightmare had her in its grip, but she was bitterly cognizant of the fact that for people like them, it was never _just a dream._ Clarke saw the faces of the ones she’d killed, or the ones she’d been responsible for killing, every night – everyone from Atom to the field of the slaughtered above Arkadia – and she hadn’t even been on the ground a year. _Who does Lexa see when she closes her eyes and tries to sleep?_

Much of the wildness had gone out of Lexa’s eyes, and her breathing had calmed somewhat, but she still gazed straight ahead, seeing something that Clarke could not, as she shook her head. “Not just a dream,” she muttered, her gaze flicking to Clarke and then darting away again. The omega frowned.

“What do you –”

“The Commanders before me, they…speak to me in my sleep,” she said, and then let out a sigh, as though she knew how improbable that sounded. “I saw their deaths – at war, at the hands of an assassin…” She trailed off, her breathing beginning to pick up again, and Clarke swallowed down all of the million questions she wanted to ask in order to comfort her mate.

“It was just a nightmare,” she said, as soothingly as she could. But Lexa shook her head.

“It was a warning.” She turned to meet Clarke’s eyes for the first time since she’d awoken, and the omega could see fear brimming in them. “They think I’m betraying their legacy.”

“Listen to me,” Clarke said, reaching up to gently turn Lexa’s head so that she faced her more fully. “A ceasefire is not a betrayal. What you did on that battlefield stopped a war. _Your_ legacy,” she said, imbuing her voice with as much sincerity as she could, “will be peace.”

Lexa gave her a shaky smile. “Somehow, I’m not sure the other Ambassadors will see it that way.”

“Well, we’re gonna make them.” Clarke firmed up her tone, wanting to bolster Lexa’s confidence, but the alpha looked as lost and adrift as Clarke had ever seen her. _She’s changing the way her people have done things for generations,_ she realized, heart stinging with sympathy. _The way that’s always helped them survive. Of course it’s gonna be hard on her._ But she knew that there was no way Lexa could change the minds and hearts of her people if her own wasn’t steady to the course. And that, Clarke knew, would be her true role in the negotiations today: to keep Lexa grounded, and her convictions firm. She took hold of the alpha’s hand where it lay next to hers in the sheets, and squeezed it, looking deep into Lexa’s eyes.

“You formed the Coalition when you were just eighteen,” Clarke said, “and that meant getting all twelve Clans to make peace, not just one.”

“Yes,” Lexa said shakily, “but I did it the way our people have always done it: _jus drein, jus daun._ ” The words hung leaden in the room, making Clarke’s heart thud nervously. “There was plenty of diplomacy, but there was just as much bloodshed. I worked out which leaders I thought I could bring to the negotiating table, and then I made them tell me what they would require to make peace. Sometimes that meant bringing them the heads of their enemies.” She sucked in a deep breath, her eyes haunted with the war she’d had to wage to bring peace. “If I knew they wouldn’t negotiate no matter what, I…staged a coup, or ordered an assassination, and installed leaders that I knew would be willing to see reason.”

 _And you gave up vengeance for Costia,_ Clarke thought, her heart hurting for Lexa all over again.

“But it was not so simple as getting them all at a table together,” the alpha said, with a hint of a wry smile. “In fact, I would say that getting them at a table together without killing each other was the hardest part.”

“Well, then that hardest part is over,” Clarke argued. “They’ll all be at the table this afternoon.” But Lexa shook her head.

“No, this…this will be harder. They won’t understand what I’m trying to do, Clarke,” she said, desperation seeping into her words. “They don’t understand why I’m trying to make peace and not war. What they understand is vengeance…and they will see me as weak for not taking it.”

“They know you’re not weak, though!” Clarke said, frustration beginning to get the better of her. “They saw me bow to you; they saw you defeat Roan! Shouldn’t that be enough?”

Lexa laughed – a grim, sad little noise. “Never. But think of it from their position, Clarke. In joining my Coalition, they agreed to make their justice my responsibility. If they believe they cannot trust me to deliver it, why should they continue to follow my rule? Why would they not just take matters into their own hands?”

“Because you wouldn’t be giving them justice by killing all of _Skaikru_ ,” Clarke insisted, suddenly feeling desperate herself. “You’d just be giving them vengeance.”

“The line between justice and vengeance is fine,” Lexa said wryly, her eyes filled with an ageless exhaustion. “And it’s not one that everyone can see.”

Clarke opened her mouth, prepared to argue for as long as it took to get Lexa to stop looking like that, so ancient and sad and solemn, but she was interrupted by a knock on the door. They both jumped, staring at each other in blank incomprehension, as though unable to fathom why someone might want to disturb them – and then, abruptly, Clarke remembered. Lexa was not Lexa, but _Heda,_ and she was not Clarke, but _Wanheda_ – who had absolutely no business in _Heda_ ’s bed without a stitch of clothing on her. Her eyes went wide.

“What do we do?” she hissed to Lexa, feeling absurdly like a teenager caught in bed with her girlfriend, about to be busted by her mom – although the stakes were a hell of a lot higher than that, as she was well aware.

Luckily, Lexa had a better handle on herself – born of experience, Clarke thought with a pang, from Costia – and was up and out of bed in a heartbeat. The omega only had a brief moment to admire the fluid grace of her mate’s naked form before a bundle of cloth hit her in the face: her nightgown.

“Put that on,” Lexa ordered, and, when Clarke couldn’t seem to make herself move, she repeated the words with an overtone of alpha command. That snapped Clarke out of her frozen panic. She bristled at Lexa as she pulled the garment over her head, but the alpha ignored her, busy pulling on the pants and shirt she had discarded the night before. To Clarke’s exasperation, the exertion of Lexa’s alpha voice, as well as the visceral memory of how those clothes had come off – _Lexa’s muscles surging under scarred and inked skin as she drew her shirt over her head, her stomach flexing as Clarke’s fingers flew over the button of her pants_ – made heat glow to life again between her legs. _Enough,_ she snapped at herself, doing her best to tug her nightgown into place and make her hair not look so much like sex. _We don’t have time for that. Jesus, Griffin, stop being such an omega!_

There was another knock at the door, louder this time, and then Titus’s voice, thick with worry: _“Heda? Yu der?”_

“Coming, Titus,” Lexa shouted back, yanking the sheets back into place and flinging the furs over them to disguise their disarray. Then, with a glance at Clarke to affirm her readiness – Clarke returned it with a nod – she strode swiftly to the doors and flung them open.

Titus was waiting outside, hands folded in his robes, but he was not alone. He was flanked by several guards, most of whom Clarke had seen around the tower in some place or other, but there were two she did not recognize, carrying a large wooden box. After a moment of confusion, she realized that they were garbed in the pale fur of the Ice Nation. An icy bolt of fear lanced through her, and she had to clench her hands into fists at her sides to keep from folding them over her belly protectively.

Lexa stepped back to allow her advisor entry, and Titus dipped her a quick bow. “Apologies, _Heda,”_ he said, then darted a glance at Clarke. “I did not realize you were busy.”

“Clarke and I were discussing our plans for how to handle today’s Summit,” Lexa said smoothly, and Clarke found herself biting back a grin. When Titus only nodded, looking dubiously between the two of them, the alpha raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to tell me what’s in the box or not?”

“Forgive me,” the beta said, as though only just remembering himself, and waved the two alphas carrying it forward. The way they moved, and the low thud it made when they set it on the floor, told Clarke that it was quite heavy. “It is a gift from King Roan of _Azgeda,_ ” Titus continued, gesturing at it. Clarke found herself transfixed by its intricate carvings, tracing with her eyes a hunting scene in which large, wolfish hounds harried a leaping stag. She was entirely caught off guard when Titus turned to her and said, “For _Wanheda.”_

Clarke looked up at the _Fleimkepa,_ confusion and concern tugging at her. She didn’t trust Titus, no matter how many times Lexa told her that his heart was in the right place, and that his concern was for their people and for the office of _Heda._ She had seen what a conference with him had done to her mate, and it was a struggle to keep from snarling at him as she remembered how Lexa had looked last night when she’d first entered the Commander’s chambers: staring at the floor, utterly despondent, as though the weight of her shattered world had just come crashing down on her shoulders.

To his credit, Titus took her confusion in stride. “The messenger said that it is an answer to a question _Wanheda_ once posed, that it might not be asked again.”

Clarke frowned. _Well, that certainly sounds like Roan – cryptic bastard – but what the fuck is that supposed to mean?_

“May I?” Titus asked, gesturing at the box. Trepidation roiled through her – all at once the container seemed as ominous and foreboding as the look on the _Fleimkepa’s_ face – and she wanted to scream for it to be taken away, but instead she nodded tightly.

The beta stepped off to the side so that she could get a better look at the box, and Clarke forced herself to move closer. _“Lus em au,”_ she heard Titus say, and the _Azgeda_ guards bent to draw up what she had originally thought to be a side panel. Clarke sucked in a breath as she realized just what the box had contained: a ragged beta, bound and gagged and bent into a cramped position so that he would fit in the tight space. His hands immediately flew to cover his eyes from the sun streaming in through Lexa’s window, but Clarke knew that she would have recognized him anywhere.

“Emerson,” she whispered, her lip curling up in a snarl.

 _It was you. You were the one who brought Lexa the deal, who coordinated the defense of Mount Weather, who made it so that my people – my friends – had to die._ A white-hot rage was filling her, and she started to shake with the effort of keeping herself from flying at him and tearing his throat out. And why shouldn’t she? It would be _right,_ after all he had put her through. It would be justice for the ones he’d killed, the ones he’d fated to die. It would be vengeance for what she’d had to become in order to survive…

Clarke was so caught up in her own fury that she didn’t realize Emerson had recognized her too. The widening of his eyes and the feral roar that tore from his throat were her only warnings before he rolled out of his box and launched himself at her. His hands were chained to a metal collar around his neck, but that didn’t stop him from reaching them out for her neck. Clarke only caught one further glimpse of him before she went crashing to the floor along with him, but the insane light in his eyes told her unequivocally that he meant to choke the life out of her.

Emerson was bound hand and foot, it turned out, so he didn’t get far, but one of his wild swings caught her a glancing blow to the temple with his manacle-clad wrist, and the whole world spun around her. All she could do for a second was gasp, trying to regain some semblance of balance, while her vision stung and crackled with sparks. Then hands were on her, warm and strong, and a powerfully protective scent enveloped her, imbuing her with an incongruously comforting sense of safety: _Lexa._

When Clarke came back to herself, Lexa was dragging her out of the Mountain Man’s reach and roaring at her guards to “Get him out of here and lock him in a cage! I don’t want him able to move at all!” Clarke felt a swell of affection rising in her chest at the blatant protectiveness that Lexa was displaying over her, but as soon as the alpha’s fingers touched her cheek, gently but firmly turning her head so that she could examine the place where Emerson had hit her, it was replaced by a rush of chill foreboding. Even though she could barely focus her eyes on Lexa’s face, hovering worriedly in front of her, she could feel the weight of Titus’s gaze on them both.

“I’m fine,” she said, brushing away the Commander’s steadying hands and struggling to her feet. She felt a stab of guilt over the sudden flare of hurt that she detected in the alpha’s scent, but Lexa soon mastered herself.

 _“Lid fisa in gon Wanheda,”_ she ordered one of the guards who had not gone with the others to drag Emerson, still roaring, to the dungeons. He nodded and was gone before Clarke could tell her that she was fine, she didn’t need a healer, she needed to understand why Roan had sent Emerson to her in a fucking _box_ , specifically with his head still attached to his body. To her unpleasant surprise, Titus was the one who answered that question.

“I am very sorry that happened _,”_ he said, almost managing to make himself sound sincere. By the skin of her teeth, Clarke managed not to scoff at him. “I believe it would be best for all concerned for _Wanheda’_ s wound to be seen to, and then she can make a decision as to the fate of the last _Maunon.”_

“There won’t be any decision,” Lexa said, through clenched teeth. Her hands were twitching at her sides, as though she ached to go to Clarke and hold her just as badly as Clarke ached to be held, but she knew, just as Clarke did, that as long as the eyes of Lexa’s people were on them, she had to remain _Heda,_ not Clarke’s concerned mate. “I want him dead for his crimes against Clarke’s people, and ours!”

That was the wrong thing to say, and Lexa seemed to realize it the moment the words came out of her mouth. There was a look of odd satisfaction on the _Fleimkepa’s_ face as he replied carefully, “Be that as it may, _Heda,_ his fate is not yours to decide. He was gifted to Clarke, and his life is in her hands.”

Lexa looked utterly furious, but apparently Titus’s pronouncement held some weight with her. All she could do was clench her jaw and growl, before turning to Clarke – who was entirely fed up with being talked about like she wasn’t there. “What do you intend to do?”

 _I want him dead just as much as you do, but first I want to know why that seems to make Titus so fucking happy,_ she thought, looking back at Lexa. She just needed to figure out how to say that without it being obvious. But despite her protestations to the contrary, her head was still spinning with the aftermath of the attack, and she knew that she’d need to sit down soon or else she’d wind up falling.

Clarke only managed a couple of steps in the direction of the couch before dizziness overtook her, and suddenly the world turned sideways. She was certain she’d hit the ground again, but then Lexa was there, hand warm and firm on her elbow, steadying her and guiding her to sit down. “Thanks,” Clarke said grudgingly, hating herself for needing Lexa’s help – even though it had been…nice, to have somebody there for once, instead of having to do it on her own. When she looked up, anxious to mitigate the effect of her tone with a quiet word or a soft glance, Lexa was gazing back at her, eyes filled with such worry and concern and love that Clarke’s words stuck in her throat. She could have gotten lost in Lexa right there, unable to do anything but stare back at her mate and wonder what she had done to deserve such care, such devotion…if not for the weight of another gaze on her, one that tempered the alpha’s warmth with a cold swell of dread. Gritting her teeth against the urge to run her fingers over her stomach, checking for any bruising or sore places, Clarke forced herself to meet Titus’s eyes with a flat stare of her own.

The _Fleimkepa_ looked as he always did: worried, wary, vaguely disapproving – but there was something new in the way he observed them, his eyes flicking back and forth between Lexa, still gazing concernedly at Clarke, fingers twitching as though she was desperate to touch her, to prove to herself that Clarke had not broken to pieces. It looked like dread, but something deeper…something desperate. An icy bolt of fear pierced the omega’s heart.

_He knows._

She wasn’t quite sure how she knew, nor how much she thought he might have gleaned from their interactions, but she felt like her insides had suddenly turned to melting snow. Titus knew what they were to each other, and that meant that their lives – and the lives of their unborn children – were in his hands. If he revealed their secret to the Ambassadors of the Twelve Clans before she and Lexa could do the work of mitigating their rage, they would rise up against their _Heda._ And that would be a fight that even Lexa, as brave and fierce and indomitable as she was, could not win.

A wave of terror threatened to swamp her, but it was frozen a moment later by an icy certainty. Titus was a threat – to her, to her people, to her mate, and to her children. She could not allow that threat to stand.

_I need to kill him._

It would need to look like an accident, and Clarke would need to look appropriately sorry; Lexa would take Titus’s death hard. But she was _Wanheda,_ after all, the One Who Commanded Death. It was time for her to take up that mantle once more.

***

The healer arrived and, after gently probing the cut on her forehead and asking her pointed questions every time he caught Clarke trying not to wince, the beta cleaned her wound swiftly, then daubed on a foul-smelling poultice. After warning her not to pick at it or attempt to remove it, he proceeded to put her through the paces of a surprisingly modern basic concussion test, one that she had seen her mother administer to kids who’d gotten balls bounced off their heads in gym class. After making Clarke touch her nose with the tips of each index finger, reach for several objects from various distances away, and querying her as to any nausea, disorientation, or lasting dizziness, the _fisa_ ordered Lexa to make her rest and to send for him if she started to experience any of those symptoms. Then he swept out of the room, leaving both Clarke and the Commander feeling like they’d been visited by a highly efficient hurricane.

Both of them were startled by the sound of Titus clearing his throat. Clarke turned to see him stepping out of the corner in which he’d stashed himself during the healer’s visit, head lowered submissively towards Lexa. He was clearly agitated, eyes flicking between the two of them, anxiety filtering so strongly through his bland beta scent that it made Clarke’s lip curl. _“Heda, Wanheda,”_ he said, nodding to each of them. “I will leave you now, and make certain that the prisoner is secure. Send for me when you have made your decision.” This last was directed to Clarke, but his eyes lingered on Lexa, speaking volumes that the omega did not know how to read. Again the fear shot through her, and she clenched her fists.

Lexa saw him out, but as soon as the door had shut behind him, she was hurrying back to Clarke’s side. “Are you all right?” she breathed out, kneeling next to the sofa and reaching gently for Clarke’s face, before thinking better of it. Touched, Clarke caught her hand before she could pull it away, and pressed it against her cheek. They took a moment together to simply breathe, allowing each other’s scent and touch to soothe the insanity of the last half hour. Clarke found herself wrapped up in fuzzy musings of how only a few weeks ago, she had cursed the effect that Lexa had on her, hating the alpha and hating herself for the way her body yearned for the comfort of her mate. Now, she couldn’t imagine anywhere else she’d rather be.

“I’m fine,” she said, even though she wasn’t, even though she wasn’t sure that anything could be fine ever, anymore, with the looming threat of Titus hanging over their heads, and the summit yet to come that afternoon with Lexa’s Ambassadors, and the war brewing within and without Arkadia’s walls… But being here with Lexa, seeing the love and care pouring from her mate’s eyes, allowed her to pretend, for a moment, that things were all right.

Lexa smiled, but there was a sad, wry quirk to her mouth that suggested she knew what Clarke was thinking. “Very well. I’m sure you’ll want to rest, what with…” She gestured at Clarke’s head, which the omega shook.

“There’s no time. We have to decide what we’re going to do about the summit, and I need to figure out what to do about Emerson.”

She arched at eyebrow at the flare in Lexa’s pheromones, the alpha within her struggling at taking orders from an omega. But it was Lexa, and so she gave no more sign of what she might be feeling than to clench her jaw. “He hurt you, Clarke,” she said tightly.

Clarke’s heart lurched at what the Commander wasn’t saying: _and for that, he must die._ And god knew she wanted Emerson dead, for everything that he’d done to her: kidnapping her and her friends, torturing and killing some of them, keeping them trapped in Mount Weather so their blood and bone marrow could be harvested for his vampiric civilization to regain the surface…and he had torn Lexa and herself apart. She knew it was Cage’s directive, and Emerson had only been the messenger, but she couldn’t forget the smug look on his face as he’d said, “You made the right choice, Commander.”

She badly wanted him dead, but she couldn’t forget the look on Titus’s face when Lexa had said the same. The alpha was staring at her, and although her face had regained the calm mask of _Heda,_ tension still filtered clearly through her scent and shivered through her muscles. It reminded Clarke of the way she had looked at the site of the slaughter, like a bomb about to go off.

The pieces snapped into place. It wasn’t right for her to ask Lexa to change her world, change the way things had been done for generations, without giving something herself in return. In order to form the Coalition, Lexa had given up vengeance for Costia, for the girl she’d loved. In order to save her people, Clarke would need to follow her mate’s example.

 _“Jus drein nou jus daun,”_ she murmured.

Lexa’s brow furrowed in confusion, but soon cleared in understanding. “You would give up your vengeance,” she said slowly, “for the lives of your people, and the dead at Mount Weather.”

Clarke nodded. The words were bitter on her tongue, but she forced herself to say them anyway: “Yes. And I would ask you to do the same.”

The alpha’s nostrils flared as she sucked in a breath, and Clarke found herself holding her own. Would this be the point where it all fell apart, where Lexa declared it a bridge too far? But she wasn’t worried about it, not truly – she knew Lexa at this point, knew her soul was that of a peacemaker, and she would understand why Clarke asked this of her. _Besides…she’s done this before._

Lexa let out a harsh sigh, and nodded. “Very well. But Clarke, he cannot go unpunished. Just because I won’t take his life doesn’t mean that he can get away with murder.”

“What did you have in mind?” Clarke asked, recognizing that her mate must already have decided on a fitting sentence.

“Exile,” the Commander said. “He’ll be banished from my lands, to live out the remainder of his days as best he can in the wastes.”

When Clarke thought of Emerson struggling through the bitter cold of the far north or the blazing deserts to the west of Lexa’s territory, it was with an ugly sense of satisfaction. “Good,” was all she could say. It was as good as a death sentence anyway – very few people could survive out there for long, and she highly doubted Emerson would be one of them.

But she could see the wheels turning in Lexa’s head, and knew that her mate had come up with something else. She couldn’t help smiling a bit as Lexa’s eyes brightened, and she turned to Clarke. “I will have him escorted to whichever boundary he chooses, and he’ll be set free. But Clarke…we can use this.”

“How?”

“A set piece. We’ll deliver our judgement before the Ambassadors. They’ll see you ask for him to be spared, and we’ll be able to show them how _jus drein nou jus daun_ can work.”

Despite herself, Clarke felt excitement coiling in her belly. “And they can see that I’m committed to it too, enough to give up my rightful kill.”

A fierce grin burst to life on Lexa’s face. _“Shonuf.”_

Although neither of them wanted to separate, they realized that they would have to in order to make themselves presentable for the summit. Clarke would have liked to stay in bed for the rest of the day, sharing kisses and warmth and re-learning each other’s bodies again and again, but she knew that if she allowed Lexa to pull her into her arms for one moment longer, she would never leave. And so with the alpha’s last kiss tingling on her lips, she made her way down the stairs and hurried back to her bedchamber to attempt to make herself look like she hadn’t just spent all night fucking the Commander. _A good start would probably be to wipe that grin off your face,_ she told herself, hoping that nobody had seen.

Clarke bathed as quickly as she could, regretfully scrubbing all traces of Lexa’s scent and of the night they’d shared from her skin. The alpha had been careful not to leave marks, and Clarke snorted as she remembered when they’d first come together and Lexa had been walking around her mother on eggshells. After toweling herself dry, she put on a tan buckskin jerkin and soft, dark blue breeches that had been delivered to the tower by Geib’s messenger while they had been in Arkadia, and then took in a deep breath, trying to steel herself for what was to come.

_It would help if I had any idea of what’s gonna happen in there…_

She darted a glance at herself in the mirror over her vanity just before leaving, and it was a good thing she did: despite her attempts to comb out her tangled hair in the bath, it was a complete disaster. There was absolutely no way she could address the Ambassadors of the Twelve Clans looking like this. Snarling to herself, she plopped down on the chair in front of the mirror and set to undoing her braids, or what was left of them anyway. That was easy enough; what was harder was redoing them. _I’m not even trying anything fancy like the night I bowed to Lexa,_ she thought, feeling her frustration rising at being thwarted by such a ridiculous issue. _So why – won’t – it – just –_

“Fuck!”

The strands of hair she had been inexpertly twisting together slipped out of her fingers once again, and she slammed her palms on the table, feeling the pressure of tears at her temples. It was absurd that she was ready to _cry_ over something like this, but it just seemed like everything was going wrong, and she couldn’t imagine any way it might be righted.

There was a knock on the door, three quiet raps, and Clarke turned, heart lifting suddenly. “Come in,” she said, and Lexa slipped inside, dressed in her full _Heda_ getup – the flowing black coat, the pauldron, her sash of office sweeping along behind her as she walked. _Her_ braids were immaculate, of course, Clarke noticed sourly. She favored Clarke with a hesitant smile which the omega tried to return, but Lexa didn’t buy it.

“What’s wrong?”

 _Fuck it,_ Clarke thought, and gestured to her hair. “My braids – they don’t seem to want to cooperate today, and –”

Lexa bustled over and took up her place behind Clarke. Her hands were in the omega’s hair in moments, twisting and twining expertly, and god if that didn’t feel good, to have her mate’s hands moving through her hair… Abruptly she found that she was no longer nearly so agitated, but was in fact struggling not to purr. “Thanks,” she said, watching Lexa bite her lip in adorable concentration as she put the finishing touches on a relatively simple style.

“It’s no trouble,” she replied. “There, you’re done. What do you think?” They looked at each other in the mirror, and despite everything, a genuine smile stretched up Clarke’s lips.

“It looks good. Better than anything I could do myself, anyway.”

Lexa favored her with another swift smile, but it fell away soon. “Are you ready?”

Clarke sucked in a breath, then stood. “I have to be, don’t I?”

The Commander nodded, looking at her sincerely. “You can do this, Clarke. You were born for it…same as me.”

A shiver ran through her at the echo of the words Lexa had spoken to her on the battle for Mount Weather. The truth was, she didn’t feel born for _anything_ – she felt young, and afraid, and entirely out of her depth. But for the first time since that night, and what had come after, she didn’t feel alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigedasleng:
> 
> (*means I’ve made this up)
> 
> Heda? Yu der: Commander? Are you there?
> 
> Lus em au: Open it
> 
> Lid fisa in gon Wanheda: Bring a healer for the Commander of Death
> 
> *Shonuf: Exactly


	20. history has its eyes on you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it wasn't QUITE so long this time, right? As usual, let me know what you think in the comments. For those of you who've been wondering wtf is up with these chapter titles, I'm attempting to make 8tracks let me make a Young Gods playlist! I will be posting it on my tumblr if/when I get it done. It'll give you some insight into what I was thinking when I was writing the chapters. 
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you think in the comments and on tumblr @n1ghtwr1ter! This one's a Lexa chapter :)

It was a challenge for Lexa to hold her head high and keep her eyes straight ahead as she made her way to the throne room, flanked by her largest and most imposing guards. She kept catching herself wanting to glance back at Clarke, to whisper reassuring words to her mate and tell her that they just needed to keep their focus on their goal and everything would be all right, but she knew she couldn’t. Everything was about image today, from start to finish, and that included now, before her Ambassadors even caught a glimpse of her. It would mean something to everyone in that room that the _Bandrona kom Skaikru_ was entering the room with her, protected by _Heda’s_ own guards. It would send a message – Klark kom Skaikru _is under my protection, and so are her people_ – that all of her Ambassadors would understand.

Besides, any words of surety wouldn’t be true. She couldn’t know that everything would be all right. She had no idea what was going to happen in there, no idea how her actions would be received.

Panic lapped like flames at the edges of her brain, and she threw herself into a breathing exercise that Anya had taught her a lifetime ago, in order to stave it off.

_Focus. Breathe in, hold. Breathe out, hold._

The panic receded, but the uncertainty remained. She had never done anything like this before. _Heda_ had never done anything like this before – and that was, if anything, even more terrifying. Separate and apart from the Spirit’s guidance, she often drew comfort from her knowledge of her predecessors, from knowing where she stood in relation to their legacies. What she was about to do, however, would mean stepping out from under their familiar shadow, and forging her own way in an unknown world.

The warriors in front of her halted, calling for the doors to be opened. As she heard Titus's voice in the throne room rise above the dull thunder of the drums, shouting for everyone to rise for their _Heda,_ she sucked in a breath.

_So it begins._

The doors groaned open and she entered, boots thudding solidly on the carpeted stone in time with the pounding of the drums and the pounding of her heart. She was careful to keep her chin up, gazing straight ahead at the broad back of the beta guard in front of her, even though she was acutely aware that all eyes in the room had immediately fixed on her. When they reached the center of the room, her warriors peeled away in a well-rehearsed motion, taking up positions at the base of the dais that held her throne.

That left her face to face with Emerson, bound wrist and neck to a pillar in the middle of the room. When his eyes met hers, he bared his teeth and let out a quiet snarl – abruptly choked off by a brief exertion of her alpha pheromones as she stepped around him. She was proud of herself. The flash of rage that the sight of him engendered in her had told her to tear his throat out for what he had done to Clarke, and for what his people had done to hers. Ordinarily, she doubted she would have felt even that – but that had been before Clarke. Knowing that ascending the steps to her throne gave her a second or two of being unobserved, she allowed herself a hidden smirk.

 _B.C. – before Clarke. Like something out of a history book._ Well, there was no doubt that Clarke Griffin would make her way into one of those someday.

Then the moment was over; she turned smartly on her heel, just in time to see Clarke making her way to her own seat. The omega looked shaky, ashen under the weight of the glares leveled at her, the ugly mood of the assembly. Nobody had said anything audible, but the stink of alpha aggression, of beta and omega fury, hung heavy in the room. The snarl she felt tugging at her lips became harder to curtail. Her instincts told her to leap to her mate’s defense, to place her body between Clarke and everyone who sought to harm her and to roar that anyone who attacked _Klark kom Skaikru_ was attacking her. She clasped her hands behind her back so that no one could see her shaking with the effort of resisting.

When everyone was in their place, she raised a hand, drawing all eyes back to her and halting the drums’ slow beat.

 _“Oso hit choda op deyon, kom tona gou fou nau, hashta ai op hef na wan op,”_ she said, and was pleased at how steady her voice was. After a moment of silence, the sub-audible muttering returned, the Ambassadors shifting restlessly and cutting glances at one another, trying to determine who might know what was going to happen. The energy of the room changed, becoming more mutable, filtered through with confusion and uncertainty; no longer a solid mass of anger directed entirely at Clarke, which was precisely how she wanted it. Their attention was redirected onto Emerson, onto wondering who he was and what his crime might be, that he should be executed by the Commander’s own hand.

 _“Wanheda,”_ she called, catching Clarke’s eye. Although she could make no outward gesture of support, she lifted her chin at the omega, hoping that Clarke would understand. Then she reached down to the knife strapped to her thigh, withdrawing it from its sheath and making sure that it glinted in the light of the candles before handing it off to a guard. The alpha offered it to Clarke, and Lexa watched as she took it, knuckles going white with how hard her fingers were curling around the hilt – but her hand did not shake. Lexa felt a small stab of pride at her mate’s composure, but swallowed it quickly, not wanting it to show.

 _“Gada yu baman in,”_ she told Clarke, when the omega looked back up at her.

The whispering grew louder as Clarke made her way slowly to the center of the room, to stand before Emerson. Lexa couldn’t quite catch their words, but she could tell from their tone and from the scents swirling through the throne room that they were even more confused than before, but their anger was returning. It was a show of approval, to be given the opportunity to exact one’s vengeance before _Heda_ , and to receive the blade with which to do so from the Commander’s own hand. She was showing favor to _Skaikru_ and to their Ambassador with this gesture, when it should be _Wanheda_ herself tied to that post, and as their _Heda_ it would be her duty to make the first cut!

 _“Hosh op,”_ she called as the buzzing grew louder, like a kicked hive of hornets. The noise dimmed, but the anger she could smell and feel grew even stronger. That didn’t frighten her – not yet – but adrenaline pouring through her veins and the effort it took to retain control over the room, and over the situation, was making her shake. She clenched her hands into fists by her sides.

When she returned her gaze to Clarke, she felt a pang of fear lance through her like lightning. Her mate was staring into Emerson’s eyes with the sort of look she knew well: the gaze of a warrior just before a kill. The way Clarke’s hand trembled around the knife took on new meaning. The omega wanted to kill the last Mountain Man, to make an end of him and his people, to close the book on that bitter chapter. No one in this room would contest her right to do so, to take her vengeance for what her people had suffered. It was, after all, their way.

_Jus drein, jus daun._

Clarke’s eyes were locked with Emerson’s, her face a mask of grim purpose. All of the air seemed to have been sucked out of the room, every molecule paused in its path – waiting for Clarke’s decision. Lexa felt her nails dig painfully into her palms with the effort of remaining still, of keeping her face impassive, while every nerve in her body screamed at her to rush to Clarke’s side – to take her hand, to whisper in her ear and remind her of what they were attempting to do here. _Someone has to take the first step,_ she thought at Clarke, wishing desperately that her mate could hear her. _Let it be you._

“No.”

Clarke’s voice rang out clearly in the stillness. All at once, Lexa felt like she could breathe again. She watched as the omega extended her arm as though preparing to make the first cut – Emerson would receive 49, Lexa thought dimly, one for each of the _Skaikru_ dead – and then turned her wrist, so that the dagger lay on her open palm. After a moment in which Lexa was certain that all eyes in the room – her own included – were fixed on the weapon’s point, Clarke turned her hand. The knife hit the floor with a dull ringing of metal, like the toll of a bell.

The Ambassadors’ whispering buzzed to life once more, their voices thick with confusion and disbelief. When Clarke’s eyes met hers over Emerson’s shoulder, seeking her approval, her understanding, her forgiveness for what she had nearly done, she took advantage of the tumult to let her own gaze radiate her forgiveness, her understanding, her love. Then Clarke looked away, ostensibly addressing Emerson but speaking loudly enough that her words could be heard by everyone in the room. “I don’t know if your death would bring me peace, but I know it wouldn’t bring my people justice. The crimes of the Mountain cannot be answered by only one man.”

She paused, sucking in a breath, and Lexa had to stop herself from pumping her fist and hissing _Yes!_ at the perfection of Clarke’s delivery.

_“Jus drein nou jus daun.”_

The throne room erupted into chaos. Everyone was talking at once, questioning each other, questioning _Wanheda,_ questioning her. Lexa was inclined to let the confusion go on a little longer, knowing that they needed to express their disbelief before she called them to order and explained how their world had just changed – but before she could do so, Titus hurried from his place at her side. As he passed, she caught of whiff of pure fury on his scent, and felt her own temper rise.

“This man must die for his crimes!” the _Fleimkepa_ shouted. “If _Skaikru_ will not take his life, then _Heda_ will!”

 _“Heda_ will speak for herself,” Lexa snapped, fighting to keep her words calm and measured. _“Nou mou, Tytos.”_ The beta stared at her, looking like she’d suddenly lashed him with a whip – wounded, angry, uncertain. Lexa wished she could take more time to speak with him, to make him understand why she was doing this, but there was none – she had to maintain control of the situation, and she knew, with a sinking feeling, that he would not have understood anyway.

“What the hell is this?” came Emerson’s voice, hoarse and shaking.

“Killing you wouldn’t give me justice,” Clarke told him, “only vengeance.” She raised her eyes to meet Lexa’s, and the certainty in them lifted the alpha’s heart. _“Ai ron disha hef em sonraun op.”_

The murmurs of the Ambassadors evolved into shouts of dismay, disbelief – but all were overshadowed by the roar that erupted from Emerson. It was pure fury and despair, the sound of a man who had been denied the final peace of death. He threw himself against his bonds in an effort to get to Clarke, even though he must know it was futile – the chains around his wrists held him fast, and the iron collar around his neck must have been choking him. Clarke stood impassively in the face of his impotent onslaught, only granting him the consideration of her gaze for a few moments before looking up at Lexa. The alpha had to hold back the pride and love swelling in her like a sunrise, even though she wished for nothing more than to be able to let them shine forth for her mate.

 _“Hosh op!”_ she shouted again. When the noise dimmed but did not fully stop, she raised her voice: “ _Wanheda’s_ choice shows us a promise for a new future – a world in which violence does not always answer violence.” She had their attention now, she could tell – as she fanned her gaze out over the assembly, she could see confusion, disbelief, and anger in the faces of her Ambassadors, but also hope. Hope that she might make them understand what she was trying to do, that she could calm the fears that lay beneath all of the fury and bewilderment and distrust.

“A world in which our children can flourish without the shadow of death hanging over their heads,” Lexa continued, her gaze flicking to the Nightbloods who clustered near the back of the crowd, staring at her with wide eyes – and, even though she schooled herself not to, to the swell of Clarke’s stomach, hidden beneath her clothes. She forced herself to look up, to meet Clarke’s gaze, and was heartened by the small nod the omega gave her. She returned it with her own before looking back out over the assembly.

“This man is banished from my lands,” Lexa said, letting her words fall heavily from her lips with the weight of finality. “He will live, but he will carry the ghosts of those he has lost, haunted until the end of his days by the knowledge that he is the last of his kind.”

She couldn’t help but remember a time when she had spoken similar words – the night she had declared that in killing Finn herself, Clarke had fulfilled her people’s debt to Lexa’s, even though Indra wanted more blood. _They do not know that your suffering will be worse,_ she had told Clarke then. _What you did tonight will haunt you until the end of your days._ She felt herself shaken by how powerfully the past echoed in the future, even though she hadn’t been aware of saying anything of portent, but it was impossible to know the will of fate. All she could do was bow to it – or try to change it, like she was today.

Lexa could see the weight of her pronouncement settle over Emerson’s shoulders, making him slump in his bonds. She was certain that if she were in his place, doomed to be the last of _Trikru_ until her life ran out, she would feel much the same. He might seek death, and she knew it was easily found beyond her borders, but it would not come at her hands, or the hands of her people. It was a small step, but it was the first.

_Oso na teik trei-de gon ogonzaun._

She noticed Clarke stepping in close to Emerson, and her brow wrinkled with confusion and concern. Even though Lexa knew there was no way the _Maunon_ could touch her mate, she couldn’t help remembering how he’d attacked her – and the still-healing cut on Clarke’s head made her blaze with fury. The omega’s mouth was moving close to Emerson’s ear, but over the buzz of her Ambassadors’ murmuring, Lexa couldn’t make out the words. She briefly considered asking Clarke in private what she’d said, but something warned her against it. It felt like something private to be held between them, until they had both passed from the earth.

After moving away from Emerson, Clarke looked up and gave Lexa a small nod: _We’re done here._ The dignitaries were still buzzing amongst each other, trying to understand what had just happened, but Lexa’s voice cut through the noise: “Remove the prisoner, and escort him to whichever border he chooses,” she told her guards. “He is not to be harmed unless he resists, but if he is discovered in my lands again, his life is forfeit.”

Three warriors stepped forward to do her bidding, two of them holding Emerson’s arms while the other unbound his hands, then bound them again in front of him. The _Maunon_ continued to make noises like a wounded dog as he was taken from the room, and his howls of grief and fury echoed through the hall even after the doors had swung shut behind him. Lexa let out a breath, the weight of what she had just done settling over her shoulders – but it was also tinged with relief. Emerson had been the first to be judged, before an assembly of her people, under the law of _jus drein nou jus daun_ – but it had worked. However, he was just a prisoner, the last of the hated _Maunon_ , whose life was ultimately of no consequence. The murderers who had killed three hundred of their own, however, were still at large – and their representative stood before them.

They had discussed what would come next, in brief, although they were both well aware that anything could happen. _Plans don’t last very long in battle,_ she had told Clarke once, and this was nothing if not a battle. Still, there was nothing they could do except forge ahead, and hope that their intellect and skill could carry them through whatever was to come. Lexa forced her face to remain calm, despite the anxiety thrilling through her. Now it was up to Clarke to make the rest of the Clans believe that justice would truly be done here.

Returning to her throne, she gathered her coat and sash under her and sat, gesturing for the Ambassadors to do the same. They did, many of them looking shell-shocked but also somewhat relieved, as though comforted by the return of the familiar rhythms of a council session. Still, Lexa caught plenty of dirty and dubious looks being thrown Clarke’s way, and hers, as they settled themselves.

“We meet today to discuss the crimes committed against _Trikru_ by members of _Skaikru,_ including their elected leader,” she said. “We are here to discuss what actions shall be taken against the Sky People and their leadership, so that justice may be served.” She took a moment to gauge the impact of her words, and found that the mood of the room had darkened considerably. They didn’t understand the show she had put on before, but they understood _this_ – or thought they did.

“Before we begin, _Wanheda_ would like to address the assembly, in her capacity as _Bandrona kom Skaikru.”_ Lexa turned to look at Clarke, and nodded for her to rise.

The moment she did, what had been angry muttering and muted glares erupted into furious shouts.

_“Ripa!”_

_“Natrona!”_

_“Baga nou ge chich in hir!”_

“Silence!” Lexa roared, standing abruptly and putting enough alpha in her voice to make them all obey. The power of her words and presence was enough to make them all sit down – for now. It would only get harder to keep them in line from here.

She stared furiously at them all, holding each of the Ambassadors’ gazes until they all looked away. The _Bandrona kom Azgeda_ took the longest, but she let her pheromones unfurl, filling the room with the stink of her dominance, and even he, too, was forced to look down at his boots. Once she was satisfied with their silent displays of submission, she said, “Although it is _Skaikru_ who are on trial here, _Wanheda_ is still an Ambassador of the Coalition, and it is her right to speak in defense of her people.”

“There can be no defense for this!” hissed the Ambassador from _Yujleda,_ his eyes burning furiously into Clarke, who was shaking lightly with the effort of remaining on her feet in the face of the Ambassadors’ combined rancor. Lexa growled until he looked down again.

 _“Everyone_ is given a chance to defend themselves,” she told him. “Unless you plan to forfeit the Broadleaf Clan’s opportunity in the future?” She pinned him with a glare, and after a moment of snarling under his breath, he was forced to shake his head. While she could ordinarily depend on Titus to enforce the norms of her court, allowing her to use her influence in other ways, her _Fleimkepa_ only stood by her side, radiating a sense of deep disapproval. Lexa knew that she would need to do this on her own.

With the worst of the Ambassadors’ ire held in check, she sat back down and turned to Clarke. “Speak your piece.”

The omega glanced at her briefly before drawing in a breath. “Thank you, Commander. And thank you, Ambassadors, for allowing me to present my case before you.” There was muted rumbling and discontented growls, but Lexa quelled them all with a look. “Members of _Skaikru_ committed an atrocity – there’s no way to deny that,” Clarke said, her voice clear and calm despite the tension that Lexa could detect in her body and scent. “One of those members was the leader that my people elected. He and a small group of followers ambushed the _Trikru_ army ordered by the Commander to protect us from any threats we might face.” Lexa approvingly noted Clarke’s careful avoidance of naming _Azgeda_ as that threat – they were trying to build support here, and it would be counterintuitive to alienate anyone, even if it was deserved.

“While my people elected Pike as Chancellor, we didn’t vote for him to do something like this,” Clarke continued, her words filtered through with calming omega persuasiveness. Unlike the alpha variety, she did not seek to command, but to influence, to entice – to get people set in their opinions to consider seeing her side of things. Lexa felt a shudder of mingled discomfort and arousal run through her entire body. One always knew when they were under the control of an alpha, but an omega’s influence was something else entirely. In the hands of someone skilled, it was entirely possible that you might find yourself doing exactly what that omega intended – and thinking it had been your idea all along. She wasn’t certain that Clarke possessed that degree of subtlety and proficiency, but her mate was a powerful leader. If anyone could do what they were trying to accomplish – to stave off the vengeful fury of all twelve nations of the Coalition – it was Clarke.

“We were afraid,” Clarke said, gaze resting beseechingly on each of the Ambassadors in turn. “We had just been attacked where we thought we were safe, and all of us had lost someone we cared about. At a time when many of my people felt besieged and helpless, his arguments were persuasive.”

“So you elected a murderer,” the _Sankru_ Ambassador snapped, her words echoed by a chorus of approving growls. Lexa opened her mouth to demand silence once more, but Clarke’s voice rose above the clamor.

“We elected what we thought was a protector,” she said. “Pike presented himself as someone who would stop at nothing to keep us safe, to make sure that an attack like that would never happen again. But I _know_ that there were plenty of people who saw him for who he was, and didn’t vote for him. And I know that there are plenty more who never would have done it if they’d known what he was going to do. The atrocity was committed by Pike and a few of his most loyal followers, people who would do anything he said. The rest of us hate him for what he did to those who were only trying to help us.”

Lexa saw that Clarke was breathing a little more quickly, trembling with the effort of keeping calm under the weight of the anger directed at her. Hoping to give her mate a moment to compose herself, she asked, “If that’s so – if the majority of your people so thoroughly repudiate the actions of their elected leader – why have they not yet deposed him?” She knew the answer to that question, and had calculated it to incite a dialogue that her own people could follow the argument to the conclusion that she herself had reached.

Clarke gave her a grateful look. “Because they’re scared. Pike is cracking down on anybody who questions him, imprisoning them and sometimes even torturing them. They’re facing threats both inside the walls of Arkadia, and without –”

“Your people attacked _ours!”_

It was the _Trishana_ Ambassador, ordinarily a fairly timid beta, but the light of indignation shone in the man’s eyes. Lexa lifted her lip at him and he backed down, but Clarke forged on regardless. “We did – but we had only just made peace a few days ago. When the Commander broke our alliance –” Lexa tensed, fingers curling tightly around the arms of her throne – “we weren’t sure where we stood. We kept the Commander’s peace, but we had been at war for so long that we couldn’t be sure where the next attack might come from, only that it would. And then Pike’s people arrived.”

As Clarke narrated the tale of Farm Station, explaining how the rogue group of _Skaikru_ had landed in _Azgeda_ territory and faced the wrath of the Ice Nation immediately, Lexa took the opportunity to observe the faces of her Ambassadors once more. She saw everything from muted hostility, to fear, to outright hatred directed at Clarke, and she burned yet again to declare the omega under her protection, but she knew that she couldn’t. Clarke had to do this on her own, and Lexa had to let her.

But despite Clarke’s powers of persuasiveness, despite the grudging comprehension she could see dawning on a few of the Ambassadors’ faces, she knew it wasn’t going to be enough. Her heart sank even as her mind sprang into action, attempting to think through all of the possible concessions she could make to secure her Clans’ support, and to prevent them from staging another coup. Clarke might be able to make all of them understand why _Skaikru_ had elected Pike, and why they were yet to rise up against him, but that wouldn’t stop them from demanding vengeance for what he and his followers had done. _She needs to assure them that her plan to depose Pike is already in progress, and I need to assure them that she has my full support…but they need more from me than just assurances._ Lexa understood, then, what she would have to do in order to keep her Coalition from turning on her, on _Skaikru,_ and then on each other.

 _Clarke is_ not _going to like it._

“Our operatives are already deployed,” Clarke was saying, and Lexa abruptly became aware that she was deploying the full force of her omega pheromones. It was enough to make her vision swim, but she also knew that as Clarke’s mate, she was doubly susceptible. She had to blink several times to maintain her focus on the omega. “They’re working on undermining Pike’s base of support, on making them see that the true threat is not outside our walls, but inside of them. On making them understand that the only way to survive is to work together, in peace and harmony, with our neighbors. With all of you.”

Lexa watched as she cast her eyes beseechingly around the room, seeking out approval, or at least understanding. It was not forthcoming, but at least there was little muttering, few snarls. Still, she knew that the real work was going to come after she had left the chamber, when the delegates spoke amongst themselves, consulting their allies and attempting to gauge the mood of their enemies. _Finish it, Clarke,_ she thought, worry at what she was going to have to offer – and what it might mean for her newly-repaired bond with her mate – gnawing at her belly. As though the omega could hear her, Clarke did.

“I am not asking you to forgo justice for the slain,” she said, her words clear and measured as they rang out across the room. “I am instead asking you to wait. Delay your vengeance until my people are united against Pike, and we will offer him up to you willingly. Him, and the ones who did this. Wait until we can come together to punish those who are truly guilty.”

Clarke sat down, signifying that she was ceding the floor, but she had barely reached her seat before the throne room erupted into chaos. Everyone was on their feet and shouting at once – for order, for a chance to speak, for Clarke’s death, for death to _Skaikru,_ for blood, for blood, for blood…

_“Em pleni!”_

They all turned towards her, silenced momentarily by the power of her presence, the sheer alpha dominance she displayed, the confidence and command she was doing her best to radiate even though internally, she was shaking like a leaf. But there was a core within her of calm and certainty that could not be broken, and she reached for it to keep her steady. It was the Spirit of the Commander, guiding her like a torch; but it was also what she felt for Clarke, and what she knew in her heart to be right.

 _“Ai laik Heda, en disha ste ai Hedon,”_ she said, her voice thunderous with finality. “Anyone who attacks one of my Clans is attacking me, and this attack _will_ be answered. You have my word.”

There was some muttering, but she quelled it with a hard look and an exertion of pheromones. _“Trikru_ are one of us, but so are _Skaikru._ If _Wanheda’s_ people will do as she says, and deliver the traitor Pike and his accomplices, then I will ensure that the innocent receive mercy, and the guilty are punished.”

She could sense the question on all of their tongues, but it burst forth from Chevi, the young alpha who stood for _Trikru_ in place of their wounded Chief. She had been quiet up until now, even though Lexa could sense the anger and fear that radiated from her, but it had been muted by uncertainty in herself, and in her position. There was no uncertainty in her now, however, as she rose to look Lexa directly in the eyes, her own gaze filled with fury and anguish. “How is this vengeance, _Heda? Jus drein, jus daun!”_

She heard the words murmured by several of the others, but before it could build into a chant, she held up her hand. “It is not vengeance, my sister. It is justice.”

Chevi shook her head, a new emotion creeping into her eyes: betrayal. Lexa saw it, and feared it, but she refused to let her fear overcome her. “We will now adjourn for a meal,” she said, over the Ambassadors’ hisses and growls. “When we return, we will further discuss what is to be done about _Skaikru.”_

Without waiting for any further objections, she rose, and began descending the steps from her throne, cloak sweeping behind her. She could feel all of the eyes in the room on her, and she could hear Titus’s voice calling dully, _“Gyon op gon Heda,”_ but she forced herself to only look forward. There was no turning back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigedasleng: 
> 
> Oso hit choda op deyon, kom tona gou fou nau, hashta ai op hef na wan op: We come together today, as we have many times before, to see a man die. 
> 
> Gada yu baman in: Take your vengeance.
> 
> Hosh op: Be quiet
> 
> Jus drein nou jus daun: Blood must not have blood
> 
> Nou mou, Tytos: Enough, Titus.
> 
> Ai ron disha hef em sonraun op: I give this man his life.
> 
> Oso na teik trei-de gon ogonzaun: We will walk the path of peace.
> 
> Ripa: Murderer
> 
> Natrona: Traitor
> 
> Baga nou ge chich in hir: Enemies don’t get to speak here.
> 
> Yujleda: Broadleaf Clan
> 
> Sankru: Desert Clan
> 
> Trishana: Shining Forest (Clan)
> 
> Em pleni: Enough
> 
> Ai laik Heda, en disha ste ai Hedon: I am the Commander, and this is my Law
> 
> Gyon op gon Heda: Rise for your Commander


	21. the end of all things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. So, it's been a year. A year since our Heda was taken from us, and almost a year since I started work on this project. I just wanted to thank you all for your patience and your support, your kind words and your questions and your critiques. This story wouldn't be the same without all of them. Hell, it probably wouldn't still be going. So, thank you. Thank you for reading, and thank you for being my kru. I couldn't ask for a better clan to share the burden with me. 
> 
> Ste yuj, Clexakru. Oso gonplei nou ste odon nowe. 
> 
> Love, 
> 
> Cal
> 
> P.S. As always, please let me know what you think in the comments and on tumblr @n1ghtwr1ter!

The Ambassadors stayed in their places as the Commander swept from the room, and Clarke took her cue from the rest of them. But as soon as the doors had thudded shut, they were on the move, some of them shouting at each other while others strode across the floor to mutter in tight little groups. Clarke could feel the heat of several furious glares on her, and the air was still thick with the stink of anger and alpha dominance, but she did her best to block it all out as she rose from her seat. She just prayed that her legs would hold her as she crossed the room and slipped out through one of the doors, held for her by a guard.

Lexa was waiting, as Clarke had known she would be, in a side chamber, red sash flowing behind her as she paced. Her gaze snapped to meet Clarke's as soon as the omega entered the room, and while it was largely concerned for her it still held the traces of the passion and ferocity that she had used to keep her Ambassadors at bay. That was enough to make Clarke shiver in mingled arousal and exhaustion, her knees threatening to give out – but then Lexa was there, a hand on her elbow, guiding her to a chair.

“Are you all right?” she murmured, low, clearly conscious of the guards in the room. Clarke nodded, drawing a shaky breath.

“Yeah, I…I will be. I just need a minute.”

Clarke had been through a lot of experiences she never could have imagined before she came to Earth, but this had been one of the hardest ones by far. The energy in the throne room had seethed with tension, each Ambassador striving to make their animosity clear through the force of their pheromones and their glares. When she had stood to make her speech, she had nearly been bowled over by the force of it, of all that hostility concentrated solely on her. It had been a struggle to remember how to get words out of her mouth, let alone make sure they were the right ones, with that much pressure on her – both externally, from the other Ambassadors, and internally, from her own instincts – to sit down, duck her head, and submit, like a good omega.

But she hadn’t gotten to be who she was – Clarke Griffin, Mountain-slayer, _Wanheda_ – by listening to her instincts. Not those instincts, anyway. Her mom had taught her that she had as much right to lead as anybody, regardless of status, and had encouraged her to practice resisting the tug of pheromones. But as an omega, she had other tricks up her sleeve, and these she had practiced also: her ability to become persuasive but not conciliatory, convincing without conceding. Her voice and her pheromones helped her do so, and she had deployed them to their fullest extent in keeping her feet, and her head, while she attempted to convince the outraged Ambassadors to give her people just a little more time.

Yet for all that, it wouldn’t have been enough, if not for Lexa’s presence there with her. She knew that the Commander couldn't protect her, couldn't show her support in any way other than to enforce her right to speak, but she had felt Lexa's concern and love beaming out to her anyway. Even when she had been shouting down the other Ambassadors and announcing her resolve, letting her pheromones and alpha dominance unfurl to fill the room and reinforce her words, it had almost felt like being wrapped in Lexa's arms, a warm, shielding cloak.

She felt a shiver of arousal run down her spine at the memory, and caught herself shifting in her seat. It was absurd how embarrassingly wet Lexa's display had made her, even in such a fraught moment. But they didn’t have time for this right now. They had to figure out what came next. She had seen uncertainty in Lexa's eyes before the alpha had announced her support for Clarke's plan of action, and something like resolute sadness as well. _She doesn’t think they’re gonna go for it,_ she thought, the bottom dropping out of her stomach as she watched Lexa stride over to the guards at the door, ordering them to bring food for _Wanheda_ and herself. _She thinks they’re gonna need more concessions from us – from_ her _– to see it our way. And she’s already figured out what she needs to offer them._

The worry in Lexa's eyes as she returned to Clarke's side, and they way they continually skated across Clarke's without fully meeting her gaze, was confirmation enough. She could smell the agitation in Lexa's scent as the alpha turned smartly to face her, folding her hands behind her back and raising her chin. She cut a sharp figure in the room’s dim light, and, if Clarke was being honest with herself, an impressive one; if she wasn't so worn out by her ordeal she might have been more tempted to act on the stirrings of desire that flickered to life in her belly. But as it was, she just stared at Lexa dully, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The alpha sucked in a breath, as though steeling herself, and finally looked at Clarke. At first, she wore the calm, blank mask of the Commander that hid her true feelings so well from the world, and that, ridiculously, Clarke had once thought to be all that she was. But the truth was that Lexa felt so strongly, so deeply, that it was not a mask, but armor. And yet, understanding that as she did, that armor wasn’t useful now. So Clarke allowed her own gaze to soften just a bit, while also letting her pheromones fill the room, bridging the gap between them that Lexa so clearly feared to cross.

It had the intended effect. The alpha sighed and took a step forward, allowing _Heda_ to drop from her features, revealing the tempest that Clarke had sensed behind her eyes. And yet still she faltered, as though searching for the right words to express the inexpressible. So Clarke did it for her. “It’s not enough, is it?” she asked quietly, and Lexa nodded.

“Yes. I know my Ambassadors and the heads of their Clans, and I can tell that in their current mood, they will not be inclined to accept our proposal.” Clarke felt a hint of warmth spark to life in her chest at the phrasing, but kept her expression neutral.

“It’s not a proposal,” she said, knowing the fallacy of her statements but needing to hear the explanation from Lexa’s mouth anyway. “You _told_ them what we were going to do. You’re _Heda._ They need to accept it.”

Lexa shook her head, the corner of her mouth quirking grimly. “You know better than that, Clarke. I only have power as their Commander as long as they consider me fit to command. They were willing to rise up against me before; this time, your vote will not stop them.”

_And they won’t stop at just deposing you either,_ Clarke thought, reading the truth in Lexa’s eyes. _They’ll kill you, and me, and then they’ll come for my people._

Lexa nodded slowly, once, acknowledging the understanding between them. “They cannot be ordered now, Clarke. They must be convinced that what we intend to do will bring them justice.”

Clarke swallowed around the curious mixture of bitterness, fear, and protective fury that was rising in her throat. “All right,” she said, her voice half a croak. “So what do you need to do?”

Lexa wilted a bit at the way she phrased the question, but held firm. “Their armies are already on the march at my command, on their way to Polis. I will order them to make their way to Arkadia and create a cordon around the settlement, to prevent any further loss of life –”

“And to make a statement,” Clarke half-snarled. She was out of her seat, her fists clenched, blood rising. She could hardly believe, after everything they’d been through, every step forward they’d taken _together,_ that here they were again: at the door to the Mountain, once more on opposite sides. Only this time, Lexa’s army would be marching towards her people, not as their saviors but as their executioners. “If we don’t deliver you Pike on a silver platter in time, you’ll wipe us out.”

Lexa flinched visibly under the onslaught, biting her lip so hard it went white. Her eyes were flashing and her scent was heavy with anger, with pain – but also resolve. She was convinced that this was what needed to be done, and to Clarke’s fury, she couldn’t immediately come up with a better option. That was the way, though, wasn’t it? The last two days in Polis, their date, their play-acting at being normal mates, was over. Time had caught up with them, and now it was running her down, closing in on her. Panic licked at the edges of her anger, and she felt the inane urge to go running to Lexa, to let the comfort of her mate’s scent wash over her and make her feel like everything was going to be all right…

But it wasn’t. And Clarke wasn’t sure that anything could be again.

“I don’t _want_ to do this, Clarke,” Lexa said, taking another step closer. Her voice was low, beseeching, full of pain, but Clarke stepped back, refusing to let herself be calmed by it. The alpha looked stung by her nonverbal rejection, but rallied herself and continued, “I will be at the head of my army, to lead them against Arkadia if I have to, but my true goal will be to buy you as much time as I can. I will keep my generals from attacking _Skaikru_ or each other, giving your people the chance to do what must be done.”

Clarke shook her head, lips curling in a bitter smile. “But when the chips are down, that’s it, isn’t it? It’s still _your people_ and _my people._ Everything you said about wanting us to become one…that was all just talk.”

Lexa let out a low growl, stiffly stepping closer. “It wasn’t, Clarke…but that was before your people massacred the army I sent to protect them.”

That was indisputable, but Clarke opened her mouth to argue anyway – and then they heard a knock on the door. They both whirled and Lexa jumped about a foot away, as though they had been making out and not fighting, although Clarke only now realized just how close they’d gotten, perhaps to both. A moment later, Titus entered, his eyes on the floor and his shoulders slumped. His posture was deeply submissive, almost defeated – and yet Clarke still had to curtail a growl of suspicion.

“My apologies for intruding on your meal, _Heda, Wanheda,”_ he said, gaze flicking up to take in each one of them and then returning to the floor. “But a messenger has arrived who needs to speak with you. She says it is urgent.”

Lexa waved her hand at him impatiently. “There is nothing more important than these negotiations, Titus, and you know that. It can wait.”

The _Fleimkepa_ nodded, but held his ground, his eyes resting on Clarke just before he spoke, making her briefly flash cold. “Forgive me, _Heda,_ but I believe she may have some bearing on the proceedings.” He paused, as though for effect, before saying, “Her name is _Okteivia kom Skaikru.”_

“Take me to her,” Clarke was saying before Lexa had even opened her mouth. Fear was flooding through her now. _Oh fuck, oh god…if she’s come all this way, all this dangerous way, something has to be going seriously wrong. Oh god, what if it’s my mom? What if my mom tried to do something, or Bellamy betrayed us, and Pike… What if…_ Her thoughts trailed off into frenzied babbling, into darker and darker ruminations, dizzying her. She felt nearly ready to pass out, but then she felt Lexa’s arm brush against hers, only just barely touching her, but it was enough.

“Bring her here,” the alpha said firmly. “We will speak with her together.”

Titus nodded and then bowed himself out. Clarke pulled away from Lexa as soon as the doors had shut behind him, hating the alpha for the flood of calm that had coursed through her at Lexa’s gentle touch, and hating herself for needing it – but Lexa was already moving away from her, beginning to pace again. The mask had snapped back down over her features once more, but Clarke could smell the tension and anxiety roiling through her scent, mirroring her own.

They waited in fraught silence that seemed to stretch for hours, although it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes before they heard Titus’s steps returning, echoed by another’s. Clarke’s heart leapt with mingled agony and anticipation. Although Octavia could only have been bringing bad news, it would be good to see her friend again.

The _Fleimkepa_ didn’t bother seeing Octavia in himself, just let the other omega into the room. As soon as the doors had shut again Clarke was rushing forward, but something about Octavia’s scent and bearing kept her from wrapping her in a hug. “Octavia, why are you here? What happened?”

The other girl cast a dark glance at Lexa, who stood a few paces away – not so many, though, as to give them the illusion of privacy – before looking back at Clarke. “Nice to see you too, Princess.”

Clarke crossed her arms, refusing to let the old nickname get to her. “What’s wrong?”

Octavia sighed, shaking out her shoulders a bit and rolling her neck. She looked rather the worse for wear, Clarke realized. Her face was hollow with exhaustion, and there was a slowly darkening bruise on her cheek. It looked fresh. “Try everything. The plan is…not going to work. Not like this, anyway.”

“What do you mean?” Lexa asked, moving closer in defiance of Clarke’s warning glare. Octavia’s echoed it, but the alpha held firm.

“Bellamy’s not getting anywhere with the rebellion,” Octavia said slowly, after regarding both of them for a long moment. “The people who should already be on our side don’t trust him, because they think he’s testing their loyalty to Pike. And now Pike’s people are starting to not trust him either, because of what happened with Lincoln.”

Clarke’s eyes widened. “What happened with Lincoln? Is he –”

“He’s okay,” Octavia said, sighing a bit with exhaustion and relief. “For now. But three days ago, Pike caught him bringing medicine to the Grounder prisoners, and threw him in with them. Bellamy started bringing the medicine himself, but he almost got caught. To cover for him, Lincoln started a riot.” Octavia’s voice was dull, as though what she was saying didn’t mean anything to her, but Clarke knew the truth: it meant so much that the only way to keep it from driving her insane was to act like it didn’t matter.

“Pike wanted to kill him, but Bellamy told him no. Told him that he’d just incite the local Grounders to violence if he killed one of their own. Bastard’s so ignorant he believed him – didn’t realize that Lincoln doesn’t have a Clan anymore. But that wouldn’t have mattered anyway. _The only good Grounder is a dead Grounder,”_ she said bitterly, her voice going low and rough in a parody of Pike’s speech. “He doesn’t see any difference between them, and he doesn’t want to. He just wants them all dead.”

Clarke caught a whiff of anger, and turned to see Lexa practically shaking with it, silent snarls wracking her body in an attempt to escape. She put a hand on the alpha’s arm, feeling it like braided steel, but her touch was enough to relax the Commander, just a bit.

Yet Octavia wasn’t finished. Her eyes shone with the bitter pleasure of delivering the kicker of her message: “That’s not even the worst part, though. What Bellamy told Pike gave him an idea. He figures that if the local Grounders will cause problems for him, he should –” her lip curled around the words – “eliminate the threat. Before I left, he was talking about _clearing the local villages._ Eliminating whoever’s in them, burning them to the ground, and clearing the land for farming.” Her voice was thick with mockery as she said, “After all, Arkadia needs more living space.”

Lexa was growling before she finished, eyes dark and scent thick with rage. Clarke reached for her again, but the alpha shook off her hand. She strode to the door, her entire frame tense with dire purpose, and in desperation Clarke cried, “But you sent riders to get them to evacuate, Lexa! There shouldn’t be anyone left!”

That stopped the Commander before she could fling open the door, but Octavia snorted. “Unfortunately, that’s just not the case. The messengers got to most of them, but there are still some holdouts, people who want to stay and look for the bodies of their relatives, or who are too old or sick to leave, or who just don’t have anywhere to go. I tried to convince whoever I could to get out on my way here, but…” She gestured to the bruise blossoming on her cheek. “They didn’t really want to listen to me.”

“And why should they?” Lexa growled, turning to face them both, her eyes snapping with fury. “You’re the enemy.” For the first time since the battlefield, Clarke felt the stirrings of fear as she looked at her mate. The inflection in Lexa’s words seemed to hint at something darker: _You’re_ my _enemy._

“This doesn’t change anything,” she tried to say, stepping closer to Lexa, letting her omega scent unfurl in a desperate attempt to ease some of the tension in the room – tension she could feel on the very edge of snapping, and unleashing some calamity on them all. “You can send people to evacuate the villages, to make sure there’s nobody for Pike to kill if he even has the balls to –”

“Pike doesn’t fuck around, Clarke,” Octavia said flatly. “When he says shit like that, he means it. He had Lincoln on his knees with a gun to his head, and he was gonna pull the trigger before Bellamy stopped him. Fuck, I…” Her shoulders slumped, like all of the breath had gone out of her at once. “I thought he was gonna shoot both of them.” Clarke burned with sympathy for the younger omega, wishing there was anything she could do to comfort her. The thought of losing her brother and her mate to Pike’s murderous xenophobia, all at once… She couldn’t even imagine what it must have cost Octavia to leave Arkadia, with the possibility that she could still lose her whole family.

“What’s your suggestion, then?” came Lexa’s voice, quiet and cold, snapping Clarke out of her reverie. “Because at this point it doesn’t seem like there's much more to be done here. Your plan has failed.”

Octavia cast a look at Clarke that was full of urgency, but also hope – and suddenly, before the other omega had even spoken, Clarke knew what she was going to say. “It didn’t fail because it was a bad plan. It failed because we didn’t have the right person to carry it out.”

Lexa was shaking her head before Octavia had finished. “No.”

The younger girl folded her arms. “That isn’t up to you. Clarke, tell her –”

But Lexa had completely come undone, the mask of _Heda_ vanishing in the face of what Octavia was proposing. Her scent was everywhere, filling the room with her desperation, her fury, and her fear. “I said _no!”_

Silence hung between them, rife with a tension that Clarke felt was tearing her apart. There was her duty to protect her people – all of her people, and that included Lexa, she realized as she stared at the alpha, watching her chest heave with the force of her breaths. Then there was her need to protect herself, and the tiny lives growing within her, sleeping without any awareness of the danger they were in. And there was her need to do what was right, but it was becoming harder and harder by the minute to know what that was. She felt as though she was being pulled in all directions at once, and she wanted to scream with the unfairness of it. For all that she was _Wanheda_ and _Bandrona kom Skaikru_ and the legen-fucking-dary Clarke Griffin, she was also just one person, just one omega, just one girl. And she had no idea what to do.

“We need you, Clarke,” Octavia said quietly, with a measure of understanding in her voice that suggested she knew what was going through Clarke’s head. “Your people need you.”

She whirled on Octavia, feeling the prick of tears at her eyes and hating herself for the sign of weakness, but she was too hurt and angry to dash them away. “What the hell am I supposed to do, Octavia? I think we both know by now that I can’t save anyone!” _Couldn’t save Atom, couldn’t save Finn, couldn’t save our friends in Mount Weather…_ The death toll went on and on, stretching to the horizon in an unbroken line from the first life claimed by the Mountain to the hill of slaughtered _Trikru_ and beyond, to those who would be lost in the coming conflict that, she knew with sudden hopelessness, she couldn’t stop.

But Octavia shook her head. “You’re the only one who can save us, Clarke,” she said, her words soft but earnest. “You’ve been away for a long time, so there's no way you could know this, but…” She let out a quiet snort. “You should hear the way people talk about you. It’s like you’re a legend or a god or something. They’re confused, because they’re afraid of Pike but they’re more afraid of the Grounders, but they all think that if you come back, things won’t be so mixed up. They’ll know where they stand…and what side they should be on.”

She looked up at Clarke, her eyes filled with determination. “I know you left because you needed time to make peace with what saving us meant, but we’re about to go to war again. Whether that’s against the Grounders or against Pike is up to you.”

Clarke shook her head frantically, aching with the pain and the bitterness and the unfairness of it all. “I don’t know if I can be who you need me to be, Octavia.”

The other omega fixed her with a level gaze. “Me neither. But I do know that if you don’t come back with me now, one way or another there won’t be an Arkadia to come back to.”

The dire import of her words and the quiet conviction with which they were spoken made Clarke feel as though her insides were slowly being filled with lead. She wanted to sink to the floor, while at the same time she wanted to scream with rage – at her people, for asking this of her yet again, but also at herself, for thinking that she had ever really been free of it. _You can’t run away from who you are, Clarke,_ Lexa had told her once, but she realized now that being here, with Lexa, had not only felt like running, but had seemed, for a fleeting moment, like she had escaped. Like she could forget the turmoil she’d left behind in Arkadia, the increasingly small group of people struggling to survive in a hostile and unfamiliar world. Like she could forget where she’d come from and just be Lexa’s mate, the mother of her pups, her _Klark._

She realized with a start that the Commander had been silent during all of this, and turned to see if she could gauge what Lexa was thinking. She nearly gasped at the miserable resignation that she saw on the alpha’s face. She opened her mouth – to offer words of comfort, or to beg Lexa to say something, _anything,_ just stop looking at her like that – but nothing came out. Her throat felt swamped with all of the emotions attempting to claw it shut.

They stared at each other for a long moment, and might have gone on staring until the end of time, but Octavia cleared her throat. “Seems like you two need to talk,” she said quietly. “Is there somewhere I can stay for a bit without worrying about my throat getting slit? Either that or I want my sword and gun back. I’ve been riding since last night.”

Lexa was the first to snap out of her trance, inhabiting the role of hostess with automatic ease. “Of course. I will give orders for you to be given accommodations, and I’ll have guards on the door for your safety.”

Octavia nodded, and then, to Clarke’s astonishment, dipped her head. _“Mochof, Heda.”_

Lexa blinked, looking about as surprised as Clarke felt, before replying, _“Pro.”_

Octavia slipped out the door and Lexa followed. Clarke could hear the muffled sound of her voice, presumably dispensing orders for the other omega’s provisioning, but she wasn’t really paying attention. The weight of Octavia’s words, the fatigue of the ordeal she had just gone through, and the grim knowledge that she was about to face an even greater challenge was settling over her like a lead-lined cloak, making her want to sag to the floor and sleep for a year. _Or at least for as long as it takes for all of this to blow over,_ she thought. She was just so _tired,_ the exhaustion settled into her very bones, and there seemed to be no end to what her people would require of her.

_What, did you think you’d just be able to stay here and diplomatize your way out of this?_ asked a small, mocking voice in her head. _Yeah, right._

_I thought I was_ done _with this!_ she screamed back at it, but instead of an answer she heard Lexa’s voice, clear as if the alpha had spoken herself:

_You were born for this, Clarke. Same as me._

_Well, I don’t want whatever_ this _is,_ she thought, drawing her sleeve across her eyes in an attempt to stem the rivers flowing from them. If it meant that she would always have to choose between parts of her family, parts of herself, things that should have been inseparable but that the world insisted on attempting to tear asunder… _Maybe I should have stayed in the wilderness._

The door clicked shut, and she turned to see Lexa behind her, looking about as exhausted and heartsick as Clarke felt. Their eyes met and then shifted away again almost immediately, as though something in their meeting burned with inevitable parting. Clarke stared at the floor, resisting the urge to pant, like she was on the run from an enemy. But there were no enemies in the room with them, no one she could flee from or fight – only time, and duty.

“I don’t want you to go.”

Lexa’s voice was quiet, and small in a way Clarke had never heard it. She glanced up with a start, and found the alpha staring at her with such naked emotion that her breath caught in her chest.

“I have to,” she said, hating every word, but realizing as she said it that it was true.

“I know,” Lexa said miserably, “but…”

It felt like her heart was breaking, like her world was shattering, everything was being torn asunder. In the end, the burden was too great to bear on her own. She flew into Lexa's arms, and they clung to each other, holding each other up. Holding each other together so they didn’t fly apart in a million tiny shards.

“I know,” Clarke said, reaching up to stroke the alpha’s face. Her skin was so soft, so smooth, unlined with the cares Clarke knew she carried. She realized with a painful lurch that she wanted to see it with lines on it, with crow’s feet, with the natural blemishes of age. Each one would be dear to her, the proof of another year in which her Lexa lived by her side. A tear spilled down Lexa’s face, and she brushed it away with her thumb, but then there was another one, and other, too many for her to erase, but she didn’t stop trying.

“I can’t, Clarke,” the alpha gasped, chest heaving like she, too, had run a long way. “I can’t let you go. The thought of being apart from you, on different sides, the dangers you might face…”

“I know,” Clarke said, her own voice cracking. “I know.” She wished she had something better to offer than just acknowledgement and understanding, but she felt so helpless, so weak. _Love is weakness,_ she remembered, and the words had never seemed truer. “But I have to, Lexa,” she repeated, willing her mate to understand, to not make this harder than it already was. “I can’t just let them die. They’re my people.”

At that, Lexa looked up, a wry and miserable smile on her face. “I know. And in your place, I would do the same.” _I_ have _done the same_ remained unspoken between them, and the knowing look in Lexa’s eyes told Clarke that they both understood.

“I’m sorry,” was all she could offer, although she could barely force out the words. But Lexa shook her head.

“Don’t be. It’s who you are, and it’s why I…” She sucked in a deep breath. “It’s why I love you.”

Clarke felt a fresh burst of tears well in her eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks, and she leaned up and kissed Lexa to stop them. But it had the opposite effect: feeling her mate’s mouth moving against her own, knowing that it might be one of the last times, brought forth the flood, a river of salt running between their lips. But one pause for breath, one glance, told her that she wasn’t the only one who had succumbed to the feelings between them. The fact that Lexa was here, was allowing Clarke to see just how scared and small and miserable she felt, comforted her in a deep way that she couldn’t quite fathom.

So she kissed Lexa again with all of the bitterness and the heartbreak of their last parting, and the love and aching hope of the one to come. There was so much more to lose here, she realized, but that also meant that there was more to fight for. She was tired of fighting, but for her people, for Lexa, and for the family they could be someday, she would go into battle once more.

_And I’m not gonna lose,_ she thought fiercely as they broke apart to stare into each other’s eyes. _Nothing is going to stop me from coming back to you._

Lexa brought up a shaking hand to skim through Clarke’s hair. She opened her mouth, but before she could say anything there was another knock at the door. Lexa shut her eyes, a growl lifting the corner of her mouth, and Clarke had to stifle a giggle at the absurd petulance. _“Chit yu gaf?”_ the Commander said, exasperation plain in her voice.

_“Heda,_ the Ambassadors are gathering _,”_ came Titus’s voice, muffled by the door. _“Taim don kom op.”_  Lexa sighed, looking back at Clarke with fondness and sadness and grim resolve that broke her heart and healed it all at once.

“Back into the fray, Clarke,” she sighed, and the omega nodded. Neither of them loosened the tense grip that they kept on each other, though, until Lexa leaned forward and kissed away a tear that had lingered at the corner of Clarke’s mouth. She gave the alpha a watery smile.

“Once more into the breach.”

The Commander’s look was quizzical, but only for a moment before she hardened her features, the façade of _Heda_ returning. “I will announce the blockade, and then there will be a vote, to grant me command of the armies of the Twelve Clans. It’s largely a formality, but especially now it’s an important one.”

Clarke’s stomach churned. “And you need me to vote for you.”

Lexa nodded. “To show the other Ambassadors that _Skaikru_ accepts the Commander’s justice.”

_Another set piece._ She didn’t want to do it, but she knew Lexa was right. If it would buy them more time to depose Pike before the Coalition shattered and destroyed them all, then she would do what she had to do. _Just like bowing before Lexa._

The alpha’s eyes were regretful and worried as they searched her face, but a small amount of Lexa’s concern eased when she nodded. “I’ll do it.”

“Thank you,” Lexa breathed out, but then Titus was knocking again and she was already turning away and making for the door. Clarke felt the loss of her warm and comforting arms as a physical ache, but she scrubbed at her face vigorously with her sleeve, willing herself to be calm again, to be ready. To put aside Lexa’s _Klark_ and once more become _Wanheda,_ who her people needed her to be.

***

The Ambassadors rose for Lexa when she arrived, which Clarke decided to take as a good sign: at least they didn’t seem to be plotting another coup. _Not yet, anyway._ She took her seat again at the Commander’s bidding, steadfastly ignoring the glares and low growls from those around her, the stink of hatred and aggression that filled the room, and her own sense of impending doom. Lexa gave them all a look that settled them, although the atmosphere of unrest remained as she stood to address the Ambassadors.

“After having received new intelligence from one of our _Skaikru_ operatives, I have come to a decision,” she said, her voice ringing out across the room. “The aggression of _Skaikru’s_ leader remains undiminished, but it cannot be allowed to remain unchecked. Therefore, I call upon the armies of the Twelve Clans to march on Arkadia.” An excited susurrus swept the Ambassadors, many of them suddenly looking to the Commander in astonishment.

“Not to attack,” Lexa clarified swiftly, “but to contain.” The murmuring took on a darker turn, dismayed. Clarke strained her ears, but she couldn’t make out what any of them were saying. “We will blockade the Thirteenth Clan, keeping them from the lands they wish to possess and giving them time to take out their leader from within. Once they rise up against him, we will welcome them back into our Coalition with open arms.”

That occasioned the loudest swell of voices, several Ambassadors rising and shouting openly at Lexa – but to Clarke’s surprise, not all of the voices were angry or defiant. Some rose in question, or even in agreement, making her heart rise as well. But the Commander spoke over them all, imbuing her words with alpha overtones to ensure that she was heard and obeyed. “We will set up a buffer zone around Arkadia of five miles in each direction. The mission of the vanguard will be to evacuate any villages within that cordon, and to fortify their position against an assault.”

The muttering grew louder, but now Clarke could discern confusion within their scents and voices that made her stomach churn. When the _Trikru_ Ambassador stood, calling for the Commander to hear her, Clarke knew what she was going to say.

“And what are our orders, if they do attack?” the young alpha asked, staring at Lexa with the fearlessness of someone who has lost everything. “Or if they should try to slip through the cordon?”

Clarke knew what was coming, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear. She forced herself not to look away, not to show any emotion, as the Commander sucked in a breath. “Any _Skaikru_ caught across the line will be subject to a kill order.”

That seemed to resonate with them, as the approving nods and murmurs Clarke heard attested. She curled her hands into fists, nails digging into her palms against the urge to snarl. She knew it was what needed to be done – how else were they supposed to enforce a blockade, after all? – but the thought that _anyone,_ even someone trying to escape Pike’s tyranny, would be killed with impunity made her burn. _Anyone who’s stupid enough to cross that line isn’t one of my people,_ she tried to tell herself, but she couldn’t make herself believe it.

Lexa held up her hand, causing the room to fall silent once more, although the tension palpably trebled. Clarke caught herself holding her breath.

“I now ask for your votes of support, to surrender leadership of your armies to me. I will coordinate the blockade and relief efforts, lead the defense of our line…and spearhead any attack, should one be necessary.” Lexa turned to Titus, who had remained silent throughout the proceedings, and gave him a short nod. The beta refused to return her glance, but stepped forward. He waited as each of the Ambassadors returned to their seats before turning to the closest from Lexa’s right, seated directly across from Clarke.

_“Trikru.”_

The alpha rose. _“Trikru_ is with you, _Heda.”_

The trepidation roiling in Clarke’s gut was shot through momentarily with relief. At least Lexa's own Clan was not abandoning her. _That probably could have gone either way, though._

The _Trikru_ Ambassador sat back down, and Titus turned to the beta on her left. _“Yujleda.”_

The man stood. _“Yujleda’s_ army is yours, _Heda.”_

_“Trishana.”_

As Titus continued around the ring of Ambassadors, each of them rose and promised Lexa their support and the command of their army. Some did it with more enthusiasm, or at least better grace, than others; it took the alpha from _Azgeda_ a very long time to stand when he was called upon, putting on a show of stroking his short goatee and considering his options, but ultimately he was no match for the combined glares of the Commander and the _Fleimkepa._ The only Clan that did not promise support was _Floukru;_ when Titus called on her, she did not rise.

_“Floukru_ is with _Heda,_ but we will not go to war.” Clarke whipped around to see how Lexa took this, and found her mate looking unsurprised. But she didn’t have time to figure out why – Titus was staring at her like she was something disgusting that had crawled out from under his boot.

_“Skaikru,”_ he said, the word dropping from his lips like poison. Clarke rose, feeling like her limbs were flooded with ice.

_“Skaikru_ stands with the Commander, and we accept her justice.”

Her words had the intended effect. The room burst into shouts of astonishment, and she could feel several gazes appraising her – including Titus’s, and Lexa’s. But while the alpha’s eyes held a look that made warmth spread through her body, the _Fleimkepa’s_ made her run cold again. There was something of finality in them, as though he had made a decision. Remembering her resolve to kill Titus before he could pose a threat to her mate or her pups, she thought, _Not yet…but soon. Very soon._ The thought let her return his look without a trace of fear, even though she trembled on the inside.

“This council has spoken,” the _Fleimkepa_ said, turning back to Lexa. “Do you accept their decision?”

“I do,” Lexa said, looking out at all of them. “Send riders to your generals. The blockade will go into effect tomorrow at dawn.”

The Commander stepped down from her dais, leaving her Ambassadors struggling to rise as she swept from the room. Clarke caught her eye as she went past, saw the apology that they held just for her before Lexa had moved on, but it did little to soothe her sense that a die had been cast, setting in motion events that would determine the fate of their world, of _Heda_ and _Wanheda –_ but also of Clarke and Lexa.

***

It was late afternoon when Clarke went to check on Octavia, to make sure that her friend was resting somewhere comfortable and safe and to let her know what had happened with the blockade. She found the other omega deeply asleep, wrapped in a nest of furs, but as soon as Clarke reached out to shake her awake she had a knife at her throat. Clarke stared, asking where she’d been keeping it if all of her weapons had been taken when she entered Polis, but Octavia only grunted, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” before slumping back into the bedding. Clarke smirked at her.

“Comfy?”

Octavia yawned. “Oh yeah. Now I hope you had a better reason to wake me up than just to get my opinion on your girlfriend’s hospitality…”

Caught off guard, Clarke blushed, but soldiered on, informing Octavia of the Ambassadors’ decision to support the blockade, and the kill order. That made her friend sit up, the sleep clearing rapidly from her face. “Well, shit.”

“I don’t like it either,” Clarke said, “but it was the only way she was going to be able to keep them from turning on her, and then on us.”

Octavia looked dubious, her jaw hardening in a way that Clarke was very familiar with, but she didn’t demur. “I’m assuming that means us too.” Now it was Clarke’s turn to grimace.

“I’m not sure, but I do know that there’s no way we’re getting back into Arkadia if there’s a Grounder army in the way.”

The younger girl nodded, considering. “It’s about half a day’s ride on fast horses, but an army moves a lot slower. If the blockade goes into effect at dawn, we’ll need to leave just after sundown to get there before they do.” She turned to look at Clarke seriously. “I’m pretty sure I can get you into Arkadia undetected, but I don’t know how long we can keep you that way. Pike’s got the place locked down tighter than an airlock.”

Clarke shook her head. “I just need to be able to reach as many people as possible.”

Octavia’s face broke into a fierce grin. “I think I know who can help us.” At Clarke’s quizzical look, she clarified, “Raven managed to get the PA system up and running about a month ago. If we can get you to the broadcast room and make sure it’s clear, she can patch you through to every room on the Ark.” Clarke nodded, but couldn’t quite match her friend’s enthusiasm. She was still preoccupied with what she was leaving behind, and what they all stood to lose if she failed.

Octavia seemed to glean some of her feelings, because she said gently, “Look, we’re gonna make this happen.” Her smile turned sincere as she continued, “We have you.” Clarke returned it half-heartedly.

“I wish I could believe that.”

The other omega fixed her with a look that somehow managed to be both piercing and understanding. “You wish you didn’t have to leave at all.”

Feeling like a deer caught in a searchlight, Clarke slowly gave her a nod. Octavia sighed, but her scent radiated comfort, and Clarke found herself relaxing just a bit. “You should go,” the younger girl said, giving her a frank smile. “Pack up whatever you can carry, and…say your goodbyes.”

Clarke nodded, feeling pressure at her temples, but no tears came out – she thought she must have already cried all of them at the thought of leaving Lexa. “Thanks.”

Octavia squeezed her arm. “I’ll see you later.”

Clarke left her to get as much sleep as she could, then headed for the stairs. She was intending to do what Octavia had suggested and pack a few things into a small rucksack, but her steps took her past her own room and up the stairs to Lexa’s. She knocked three times before pushing open the door.

Late afternoon sunshine spilled through the ornate windows high in the Commander’s chamber, and the breeze that stirred the curtains carried the promise of a warm spring day, but there was no sign of her mate. A sense of dread coiled through her, but she fought to curtail it, telling herself, _Relax. She could be meeting with her generals, or Titus could be trying to convince her to kill us all one more time. Just because she’s not here doesn’t mean she’s…_

Lexa stepped out of the bathroom, and Clarke felt her breath leave her in a rush. Lexa’s coat and sash and shoulderguard were gone, leaving her looking strangely young and vulnerable in just her tight trousers and a shoulder-baring top. It was such a distinct contrast from the image of the dominant, powerful _Heda_ that Clarke had to suck in a breath. The alpha’s hair was, for once, unbraided, gilded by the sunlight pouring through the room as she finished combing it out. Her eyes widened a bit as they met Clarke’s, and they were so large, the vivid green of a vast spring forest, and just as simultaneously new and ageless. Not for the first time, Clarke felt as though she was being swallowed in them, but it was a sensation she’d come to welcome.

“When do you leave?” Lexa’s voice was quiet, redolent with sadness and resignation and understanding.

“Soon,” Clarke rasped, feeling like the word had to claw its way out of her throat. Lexa nodded, coming closer, and Clarke felt her own feet echo the movements of their own volition. “I talked to Octavia. If we’re going to get behind the blockade before dawn, we’ll have to go pretty soon after sundown.”

Lexa continued to nod, as though if she performed the motion of acceptance she could somehow make her peace with what they had to do. Although she kept her face and scent calm, Clarke knew that Lexa was putting on a brave face for her, and it broke her heart.

“Maybe, someday,” she said, even though she couldn’t quite bring herself to believe it, “you and I will owe nothing more to our people.”

Lexa offered her a brief smile, an acknowledgement of the gesture in Clarke’s words, and of its futility. “I hope so.”

They gazed at each other for a long moment, Clarke's eyes desperately drinking in every detail of her mate that they could capture: the slim, graceful lines of her body, the ageless sadness in her eyes, the little quirk at the corner of her mouth that Clarke longed to kiss, her slender, clever fingers…and the lean strength of her arm, which she was now holding out for Clarke to clasp.

“May we meet again,” Lexa said, her voice a quiet, resigned rasp.

Clarke frowned at the odd formality of the gesture, but realized what Lexa was offering: a chance to distance herself, to put their relationship, the fact that they were far more to one another than _Heda_ and _Wanheda,_ Commander and Ambassador, on hold indefinitely. At least until they could do what had to be done. It might make her life easier to forget the woman she'd be leaving on the other side of the line, the love they shared and the family they had almost been…but, Clarke realized, it would also be impossible. Just as she couldn’t ignore the pups growing inside her, she couldn’t escape the way she felt for their sire. And what was more, she didn’t want to. Because it was her love for Lexa, and her hope for their future together, that would give her the strength to carry on the fight.

She strode forward swiftly, ignoring Lexa's arm and gripping the back of her neck, drawing her forward and pressing their lips together.

At the first contact, Lexa let out a gasp – nearly silent but it resonated loud as a scream in Clarke's ears. She hadn’t been expecting this, Clarke realized, her heart breaking all over again. She'd been expecting Clarke to take the out she was offering. _But I could never do that,_ Clarke thought, kissing Lexa even more fiercely, sliding her tongue between the alpha's parted lips. _And I’m going to show you._

She could feel Lexa’s hesitation, and so she made herself firm where Lexa was soft, sure where Lexa was uncertain, forceful where Lexa was tentative. She knew the alpha must be fighting with herself – it was plain in the confusion of scents swirling around them, Lexa’s doubt and insecurity warring with her need and relief – but Clarke focused on keeping their mouths moving together, her hands gripping Lexa tightly and pulling her closer, as though she never wanted to let her go. And she didn’t. She never, ever wanted to let her go. But if she could just do this, just leave Lexa one more time, then maybe, someday, they would have built a world where she'd never have to do so again.

Clarke tried impart all of that to Lexa in her kisses, but she could tell the alpha was still holding herself back. And that wasn’t what Clarke wanted. She was prepared to give herself to Lexa, body and soul, in order to prove that every piece of her belonged to the Commander. No matter what happened in the coming days, it wasn’t a true parting, because Clarke would always be with her.

And yet still Lexa hesitated, her scent muddy with confusion and uncertainty as she reached up to gently run her fingers through Clarke’s hair, so the omega let her pull away very gently to look into her eyes. She met Lexa’s wide green gaze with the firmness of her own convictions – _I want this. I want_ you – and hoped that the alpha could read her thoughts in her face.

A tear ran down Lexa’s cheek, as well as an aching doubt that bruised Clarke’s heart, and suddenly she couldn’t stand to not be kissing Lexa, touching her, pressed as close together as they could be. She leaned forward again, but this time the alpha met her lips eagerly, returning Clarke’s kiss with the fierceness of something that might be understanding. Clarke could taste salt as she ran her tongue along the fullness of Lexa’s bottom lip, but she couldn’t be sure whether it was from her mate’s tears or her own.

Clarke let her hands slide to rest on Lexa’s shoulders, rubbing her thumbs across the soft skin she could feel beneath them, but that wasn’t enough; she had to be closer. She wound her arms around Lexa’s neck, pulling her in, opening her mouth in a silent plea for Lexa to see how much Clarke wanted her. Needed _her –_ needed Lexa. Needed her mate.

To her delight, Lexa responded, leaning in to flick her tongue across Clarke’s lips before sliding in deeper. She smelled the desire flickering to life in Lexa’s scent, and it ignited the glowing warmth in her own belly. Her hands found the knot at the back of Lexa’s neck that held up her top, and she unwound it before she’d even thought about what she was doing.

When it fell away, Lexa pulled back again, eyes wide and dark, and again Clarke could taste the muddle of confusion and desire in her scent. But while she wanted to lean in and kiss those doubts away, kiss her alpha until she truly believed in what Clarke was offering, she held herself back. Lexa needed to come to this understanding on her own.

Then Lexa’s hands were gripping hers and she was moving, pulling Clarke gently but inexorably toward the bed. It was only a few steps before her legs found the edge and she sat down abruptly, almost as though her knees had given out – but Clarke was lost once again in her eyes, so full of longing and need and a desperate, aching hope: that this could be real, that Clarke could truly return her love in equal measure, that even with a war and an army between them, Clarke would find a way to come back to her.

She couldn’t quite understand why even now, with everything that had passed between them and that they had overcome – their love, their betrayal, the renewal of their vows to their people and to each other, the family they would one day be – Lexa still couldn’t believe it. But as she searched her mate’s eyes, it came to her: everyone that Lexa had ever allowed herself to care for, allowed to see her without _Heda’s_ armor, was gone. Gustus, Anya, Costia, the Nightbloods who had been her brothers and sisters…they were all gone, leaving her scarred and broken, to rebuild herself as best she could and carry on. Because she was _Heda_ , and _Heda’s_ fight was never over, not even after her death.

Clarke’s throat grew thick with the realization. She stepped forward, kneeling on either side of Lexa’s waist and pressing herself closer. The alpha’s chest heaved against hers a couple of times, but she couldn’t tell whether they were gasps or sobs, because Lexa’s lips were on hers, eager and desperate. Clarke matched her intensity and they sank back together into the plush furs carpeting the Commander’s bed.

With shaking breaths and hands, they slowly stripped away everything that lay between them. When Clarke drew her fingers along Lexa’s sides, tracing the lines and curves she had come to know and love so well, she felt the alpha shiver beneath her touch. Her eyelids fluttered as though she wanted to close them against the emotion Clarke could see shining in them, to protect herself, but she kept them open, shimmering with defiant tears. There was no more hiding between them, nothing more to conceal. That was the choice Clarke had made, and she could see that Lexa was making it with her.

When she felt her mate’s fingers skimming along the edges of her shirt, she smiled into their kiss. Breaking away gently, she obeyed the unspoken request, drawing her shirt over her head and casting it aside. Lexa’s eyes widened, and Clarke was once again treated to something that never grew old: no matter how many times she saw Clarke undress, Lexa always looked at her as though she was the most beautiful thing in the world, as though she couldn’t quite believe that she might be given permission to see and touch something so lovely. Clarke smiled even as her heart stung, realizing just how much she’d missed this. Plenty of people looked at her with desire, wanting her for what she represented – the power of death, of her name, of her history – or even just wanting her body. Lexa looked at her like she was a work of art: something beautiful and desirable not because of what she could give or do or be for her, but because of who she was.

Still, she knew that in times like this, Lexa often needed a little encouragement both to look _and_ touch. Clarke took her mate’s hands and gently raised them to her hips, stroking Lexa’s thumbs with her own before letting go. Lexa was always very gentle with her, always hyperaware of Clarke’s feelings and eager not to go any further than she was ready for, but she was not usually quite so tentative. Once she was sure that she had Clarke’s full and enthusiastic consent, she could be gently rapacious, tenderly devouring. The times in which she managed to make Lexa completely lose control, to give in to her own desires and simply use Clarke’s body for her own needs, were few, but they burned in Clarke’s mind as brightly as beacons. Still, she knew instinctively that this was not going to be one of them. Today, she would need to take the lead.

She leaned back over Lexa, molding her curves to the alpha’s and exulting in the way they fit together, like two magnets that felt each other’s tug no matter where they were, feeling something like relief to finally come together. As her lips met Lexa’s, one hand continuing to stroke the alpha’s side while the other came up to cup her cheek, Clarke wondered idly whether she hadn’t felt her mate’s pull all the way from outer space. She had always been fascinated with the ground, drawing it endlessly and imagining the coolness of the air beneath tall trees, the feeling of earth beneath her feet. She wondered if perhaps it had not entirely been Earth that so captivated her, but a subconscious sense of who might be waiting for her when she arrived.

A moment later, those thoughts were driven out of her head when Lexa’s hands slid around her hips to cup her rear. Surprised by the alpha’s sudden initiative, she let out a gasp – but when Lexa tried to pull away, she reached back a hand to keep her mate’s hands where they were. “Stay with me,” she murmured against Lexa’s lips. “I’m here. I’m yours.” She pulled back just enough to see Lexa nod once before kissing her again, harder this time. Lexa’s fingers flexed and squeezed, and fire raced through her body.

Suddenly it wasn’t enough to be pressed against her mate, feeling her every shift and movement. The thought that there might still be something between them – clothing, specifically – was completely intolerable. Clarke sat back on her heels and gave herself a moment to exult in the sight of the alpha, the great Commander, lying beneath her, so open and vulnerable and so much _hers_ , before sliding her fingers down Lexa’s trembling stomach and under the hem of her shirt.

Lexa froze, and Clarke stayed where she was, but only for a moment. When she saw the alpha nod, she drew the garment up, and Lexa lifted her arms so it could slide over her head.

The fire in Lexa’s eyes returned as Clarke resumed kissing her, hands roving along Clarke’s sides even as the omega drank in the newly revealed skin with her palms. She delighted in the way the hard sheets of muscle flexed and trembled beneath her fingers, but the hardness growing beneath her, pressing right between her legs, distracted her. She made herself tease Lexa just a little longer, just to hear her growl, but the sudden rush of wetness that slicked her entrance made her think that perhaps that might have been a mistake. Before she could help herself, Lexa’s hands had coaxed her hips into motion, and she was shamelessly grinding down on her mate’s thickening shaft.

But it wasn’t enough. Fire raced through her veins, suffusing her entire body with fierce heat, and Clarke leaned back again, defiance in her eyes as she reached down and popped open the button of her own pants. Satisfied that she had Lexa completely mesmerized, she slowly drew the zipper down, down…

There was a rumble from beneath her. “Clarke…”

“Yes, Lexa?” she asked, grinning. “Was there something you wanted?”

The alpha surged up, so quickly and powerfully that if she hadn’t had Clarke’s waist in a bruising grip she would’ve fallen right off the bed. “You,” she muttered, in between pressing fierce kisses to Clarke’s lips. “Only you.”

“You’ve got me,” Clarke gasped, raking her nails eagerly down Lexa’s shoulders and sides so she could feel the alpha shudder. “I’m yours, Lexa. And you’re mine.”

She felt Lexa’s chest hitch again in what might have been a gasp or a sob, but then one of Lexa’s hands was fumbling with the clasp of her bra, and Clarke couldn’t bring herself to ask which one it was. Not wanting to lose momentum, she reached up to undo the bindings around Lexa’s breasts, and a moment later they fell away. Clarke eagerly took hold of each firm, small handful, brushing her thumbs across Lexa’s nipples and delighting in the way they hardened. She felt Lexa’s own hands still, her breath quickening, but when Clarke began to pinch and squeeze the way she knew the alpha liked it, she resumed her attempts. A moment later, she felt her own bra loosen, and she left off kissing her mate just long enough to let it fall away.

They came together again, pressing close, but leaving enough space for Lexa’s fingers to explore her breasts, teasing each nipple to aching stiffness. Then Lexa’s lips left hers, kissing a burning trail down Clarke’s throat, sucking a mark into her collarbone, and then lower, until they wrapped around a straining peak, and Clarke’s brain short-circuited with pleasure. Her breaths turned to gasps. Bolts of arousal thrilled through her with each tug of Lexa’s lips, each swirl and lick of her tongue, and when the alpha gently nibbled with the edges of her teeth Clarke couldn’t help it: her hips jerked forward, and she let out a low moan.

The sound made Lexa grin around Clarke’s nipple, letting it go with a slick sound before turning to the other one, which, to the omega’s embarrassment, she couldn’t help thrusting forward for equal attention. It was attention Lexa was happy to give, and for a long moment Clarke couldn’t do anything but pant and squirm in her gentle grip, caught as firmly as if Lexa had bound her. But as delightful as the thought might have been, she refused to let it consume her. She wanted Lexa to feel just like she was feeling, wanted the alpha to be just as helpless in the grip of the pleasure Clarke would give her.

She pushed Lexa away, pressing the alpha’s shoulders back onto the bed. She only had time to see her mate’s eyebrows fly up before she kissed her again, but she didn’t linger. Instead, she traced the same path Lexa had taken, kissing down Lexa’s throat and chest with a brief pause to suck at the mating bite she’d left. As soon as her lips made contact, Lexa let out a groan, and the hardness pressing between Clarke’s legs gave a heavy throb. Clarke had to swallow back her own moan at the thought of drawing it out of Lexa’s pants, taking it in her hand, taking it inside of her – but that would come later. She needed to do this right.

_Not too much later, though._

Licking and nibbling at her mate’s nipples and enjoying the groans and soft cries it earned her, she ran her hands down Lexa’s abs again to rest at the waistband of her pants. At her quick glance, the alpha nodded frantically, confirming that she was more than okay with what Clarke was doing and would very much prefer if she please, _please_ didn’t stop. At this point, the urge to tease had been subsumed by the need to have Lexa as close as possible, so Clarke unbuttoned the top of her mate’s pants and focused on undoing the laces as quickly as she could.

Every time her knuckles brushed against the hardness pulsing beneath the fabric, Lexa let out a gasp. Clarke thought she could have spent all day exploring her mate, finding out what would elicit those noises, but she knew they didn’t have time. Time was closing in on them, and they needed to make the most of what little they had left.

At Clarke’s urging, Lexa lifted her hips, to allow the omega to draw her pants down her legs. Her cock sprang free to slap against her stomach before pointing proudly at the ceiling, and Clarke swallowed hard, struggling against the sudden rush of desire that had swamped her. She wanted Lexa with an all-consuming need, but she wasn’t sure how. The only answer that came to her was _Everywhere,_ and as much as she wanted that to happen she needed to start somewhere.

Luckily, the alpha seemed to have recovered herself somewhat. _“Yu seintaim,”_ she gasped, tugging at Clarke’s waistband, and Clarke was more than happy to let Lexa pull down her pants, leaning back to help her strip them away. She reclaimed her place over Lexa’s lap, not knowing exactly how she wanted to do this but knowing that she wanted Lexa under her – wanted her mate to know that everything they were doing was what Clarke wanted. Separate and apart from the pull of instincts, of alpha and omega, of mates, she wanted Lexa, only Lexa. Wanted to feel Lexa’s hands on her, Lexa’s lips on hers, Lexa moving inside of her…

“Fuck,” she whispered, shutting her eyes to regain a modicum of control. A moment later, she heard Lexa hiss the same curse in her own language, and realized it was because the soaked fabric of her underwear had come into contact with her mate’s cock. Eyes flying open, Clarke took in Lexa’s face, strained with naked need – and couldn’t resist grinding against her shaft, coating it in the wetness that had already ruined her shorts.

Lexa let out a sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a growl, and her hands on Clarke’s hips became insistent. Suddenly it was no longer acceptable for there to be even such a flimsy barrier between them. Clarke could feel every ridge, every inch of her mate’s shaft where it nestled between her legs, but even so, that wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t be enough until Lexa was inside of her. She pulsed emptily at the thought and bit her lip over a moan.

Clarke made quick work of her shorts, flinging them off somewhere in the dimness beside Lexa’s bed, before kissing her mate again. They couldn’t keep their lips together for long – each of them kept having to pull away to gasp for breath, as though they wouldn’t be able to get enough oxygen until they were joined.

“Can I?” Clarke managed to gasp out, and Lexa nodded frantically. Her hands guided Clarke’s hips forward, and Clarke knew she must be dripping down Lexa’s shaft with just how wet she was, how ready.

She reached back with one shaking hand to grasp the firm length, positioning it so that it was nestled at her entrance. Then, fingers curling around Lexa’s shoulders, she began to press down, willing herself to open for Lexa, to allow her mate inside. The stretch became a pleasing burn and she wanted to toss her head back, shout her pleasure to the ceiling, but she kept her eyes on Lexa’s. She wanted to know exactly how her mate felt, and wanted her to understand the same. More than anything, Clarke realized, _this_ was what she needed: for Lexa to know just how much Clarke needed her, wanted her, accepted her.

She could tell the moment that got across to Lexa, because it was the moment her inner walls finally gave way, stretching to allow the head of Lexa’s cock to slip inside. She couldn’t help the quiet cry she let out, but she wasn’t alone: Lexa’s voice rose with hers, and her fingers flexed on Clarke’s hips, her whole body shivering with the urge to thrust up, to claim her in one stroke. Clarke continued to sink down on Lexa’s cock, taking her inch by inch, watching her alpha’s eyes fill with the love and understanding that this was all that Clarke cared about in that moment. She was here, with Lexa. She was home.

After what seemed to be both a moment and an eternity, she was full of Lexa, had taken every inch. Clarke took a second just to gasp at the fullness, her inner walls fluttering around the hard shaft inside of her, the head nestled at the entrance of her womb. Lexa’s eyes were wide and dark where they bored into hers, tiny growls and gasps spilling from her lips, but when the alpha’s cock gave a heavy throb, Clarke couldn’t hold back any longer. Raising herself, she let Lexa’s shaft slip out of her until she was only taking the tip. The alpha’s growls grew louder with each glistening inch she exposed to the air, but choked off into a whine when Clarke squeezed deliberately around her swollen, throbbing head. Lexa flung her head back, exposing her throat, and Clarke gave herself a moment to enjoy the rush of victory before sinking back down and joining them again.

She couldn’t make herself go that slowly for more than a couple of strokes, and while she knew that Lexa had surrendered control of this moment, she didn’t want to abuse that gift. She picked up a rhythm of long, fluid movements, leaning forward to let the alpha slide out of her and then dropping back down to take those inches back into herself. Despite how incredibly wet she was – so wet that she could hear the sounds of their coupling every time they came together – Lexa was still _big,_ and her entrance burned with the stretch. But she gloried in it, knowing the pleasure she must be giving her mate, exulting in the way Lexa’s stomach flexed, the tendons in her neck stood out, her jaw worked as she struggled to keep from spilling her release. The groans and cries that flew from her lips were sweet to Clarke’s ears, and she rewarded them by increasing the pace, increasing the pressure she brought to bear every time they came together again, grinding down into Lexa’s lap and squeezing around the fullness inside of her.

Before long, it wasn’t enough for either of them. There was increasing desperation in Lexa’s eyes and in her scent, filling Clarke’s nose and mouth with her mate’s smell and taste. She could feel her own orgasm building, the heat in the pit of her stomach intensifying with every throb of Lexa’s cock, every time they were joined. The alpha’s hips had begun to give short little jerks, as though it was getting harder and harder to keep herself from thrusting, and Clarke found it difficult to remember why Lexa was holding herself back. Digging her nails into her mate’s shoulders, she gave the alpha a short nod.

“Lexa –”

With a growl that made Clarke shudder and release a fresh tide of wetness around the base of Lexa’s cock, the alpha reached around her to take a firmer grip, directing her movements so that she sank down just as Lexa thrust up. She cried out at the sudden pressure and fullness, the forcefulness with which Lexa took her, the eagerness with which she opened to accept her mate’s shaft. Her inner walls clung to Lexa, loath to let her go even as she yearned for the stretch of her alpha’s length inside her, spreading her open again and again. Her clit throbbed every time it came into contact with Lexa’s flexing abdomen, and she took the opportunity to rub herself against the alpha whenever it presented itself. She moaned even louder when Lexa’s mouth latched onto her neck, sucking and nipping at her mating mark and making little sparks cascade down her spine. Then Lexa moved lower, latching around one of her nipples and lashing it relentlessly with her tongue. Clarke let out a whine, arching her back to give Lexa better access.

But it still wasn’t enough. She needed more, needed Lexa to fuck her harder, faster, deeper – needed Lexa to give her everything. Some of those words spilled out of her mouth around her desperate cries, and from the frantic look in her mate’s eyes she knew she wasn’t the only one who felt this way. Soon she wasn’t even moving, just doing her best to hold steady while Lexa thrust up into her, swift, powerful strokes that hit the swollen spot on her front wall every time. She felt close to bursting with the pressure building inside of her, and the way her mate’s cock twitched and throbbed every time it bottomed out told her that Lexa must be close as well. Suddenly there was nothing she wanted more than to feel Lexa’s release spilling into her deepest places, filling her up.

The thought served to catapult her towards her own orgasm, and she knew that with just a few more thrusts she would topple over the edge. She was only aware of one thought beyond that: she wanted Lexa to come with her.

“Lexa,” she cried, gripping the alpha’s shoulders even harder and pushing her away from where she was still suckling at Clarke’s breast, letting out little rumbles of satisfaction. She let out a louder one, and was treated to the sight of Lexa’s eyes gone dark and dangerous – she didn’t want to give Clarke up. The thought was strangely both arousing and endearing, but Clarke needed to make her understand that the two of them reaching bliss together was more important. “Lexa,” she whimpered, allowing her urgency to suffuse her tone.

The alpha let go, and Clarke couldn’t help but kiss her lips, swollen as they were from her attentions to the omega’s breasts. Lexa’s mouth was hungry against hers, but she felt as though they were devouring each other, twin flames igniting into a fire that would consume everything. With a gasp, Clarke broke the kiss again so she could stare into Lexa’s eyes. “I’m close,” she panted, emphasizing her words by squeezing Lexa’s shaft deliberately. Lexa let out a low groan, her hips slowing as her head sank forward to rest against Clarke’s collarbone. She allowed herself a couple of seconds to stroke the dark mane of Lexa’s hair, running her fingers through the silky strands, before cupping her cheek and making her look up again.

“I want you to come with me,” she said, putting as much firmness in her words as she could. At that, Lexa’s hips jumped, making her thrust up into Clarke so powerfully that she cried out. She was only able to keep herself from coming then and there by biting her lip so hard she tasted copper. “I want you with me,” she groaned, as Lexa began to resume her rhythm, coaxing her into a steady rocking motion that ground her clit wonderfully against the base of the alpha’s shaft. “Want you,” she sighed, as Lexa leaned up to kiss her again, mouth somehow both tender and urgent, soft and biting against her own all at once. “Only you, Lexa…”

_“Clarke!”_

Lexa’s cry was rough, wild, full of everything she’d been holding back, the tide of emotion she’d been attempting to stem so it didn’t overflow them both. But Clarke wanted it – she wanted to drown in Lexa, in how purposefully she lived, how emphatically she felt, how powerfully she loved. And at long last, Lexa was giving it to her. Her hips jerked once, twice, a heavy throb travelling along her shaft and exploding from the tip of her cock, and then Clarke felt a warm rush spill into her deepest places. Lexa’s thumb fell into place over her clit, rubbing for only a moment before Clarke was coming too, hurtling into the most powerful orgasm of her life.

She wanted to throw back her head and howl with the waves of agony and ecstasy coursing through her, but instead she kept her eyes fixed on her mate’s. She wanted Lexa to see every second of this, to see how much pleasure she gave Clarke, how happy she made her – because Lexa was showing her the same. There was nothing between them – no walls, no armor, nothing to part them except what dawn would bring. But they had bridged the gap between the earth and the stars, and suddenly something so small as a war felt very conquerable indeed.

They clung tighter and tighter to each other, tides of mingled bliss and desperation sweeping through them in never-ending floods. Their release eventually tapered off, the fluttering of Clarke’s inner walls slowing as Lexa’s cock let out a few more weak pulses, but they continued to hold each other close. Lexa’s arms were wrapped tightly around her waist, her cock still embedded deep inside of her; Clarke had her mate’s head pressed hard against her chest.

She could feel the hitch of Lexa’s breathing and knew that the alpha could feel her own, could probably guess at the few tears that dripped onto her hair – tears of exhaustion, of happiness and sadness and everything in between. The knowledge lay heavy on her that when dawn came, they would be parted, on opposite sides of a war. But that didn’t mean anything right now. The only thing that mattered was that Lexa was here with her, body, heart, and soul. As Clarke sank back into the furs, still in the cradle of her mate’s arms, the only thing she was conscious of as sleep crept over them both was praying that dawn would never come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigedasleng:
> 
> Mochof, Heda: Thank you, Commander
> 
> Pro: You’re welcome
> 
> Chit yu gaf: What do you want?
> 
> Taim don kom op: It’s time.
> 
> Yu seintaim: You too.


	22. Into the Badlands

**This is not an update.**

Because the chapter I posted on Friday was about the length of two regular chapters, and because it was emotionally exhausting, I will be posting the next chapter of Young Gods next week (between Wednesday and Friday, depending on how long it takes to finish). However, I wanted to give you all a heads-up about the content of that chapter.

As many of you have noted, I have been following canon pretty closely, but with some important variations that, I believe, have set the stage for what is to come. We’re entering the final quarter of this story, and aside from the beginning of this chapter, it will be almost entirely original. I’ve been sitting on this idea for how to tie up the “season” that comprises Young Gods for a while now, and I’m very excited to share it with you all.

**However.**

I remember reading a post last Friday on tumblr asking why so many of us  _ still  _ aren’t over Lexa’s death, even though it’s been a year. An actual clinician/trauma and grief researcher gave a beautiful answer that resonated with me very deeply, but part of their post stuck out to me specifically:

**“One of the most tried and true methods of trauma recovery is corrective emotional experiences, which is when you are in a similar situation to the traumatic one, but it resolves with you feeling safe and satisfied.”**

(All of their post is worth reading, by the way – if you’re interested, I reblogged it on my tumblr here: [ http://bit.ly/2mjRGfj](http://bit.ly/2mjRGfj) ).

This is a fix-it fic. I am writing it to correct, for myself and hopefully for some of you, the traumatic experience that was watching Lexa get shot and die onscreen while Clarke seemed helpless to save her, and could only send her off to the next shore with the beautiful Traveler’s Blessing. In my opinion, the best way to correct this trauma is to cut as close to it as possible, but to sheer away from it at the last second and replace that experience with something that is more…well, more.

More realistic – Clarke is a talented medic who managed to save Jasper’s life after he got hit in the chest with a spear – more believable – there’s no way Clarke would simply allow the woman she loved to just pass on with nothing more than a prayer – and ultimately more of what we, as queer individuals who have suffered so much loss, deserve to see. So I guess what I’m trying to get at – and this is the  **tl;dr** part – is this:

**Lexa is going to get shot in the next chapter, in much the same way that she did in the show.**

**Unlike in the show, however,** **_Lexa is going to live._ **

Clarke is going to refuse to let her go. She didn’t fight this hard, didn’t come all this way, to lose Lexa to something as stupid as a stray bullet. Clarke is going to use her courage, her ingenuity, and her medical training to save Lexa’s life. Things are going to get  _ very  _ tense at certain points, and I don’t just mean the upcoming chapter, but as I have said before in the tags and in the notes for several other chapters, Lexa is going to live. Clarke is going to live. Their children are going to live, and are going to be born healthy in approximately five months. Just as you may have read in Aubade, the sequel to this story, Clexa are going to survive and are going to be a family.

As she told her Nightbloods, Lexa is going to die one day. But if I have anything to say about it (and I do, this is my story after all), it will be at a ripe old age, surrounded by her children, with Clarke at her side. Then, and only then, will Clarke utter the Traveler’s Blessing, sending her on to her next journey with the knowledge that she won’t be far behind. But that’s going to be decades down the road.

I understand that reading something like this may be triggering to some of you. I can assure you that writing it hasn’t been a walk in the park, either – I’ve had to go back to a very dark place in order to do it justice. I will definitely understand if some of you choose to stop reading the story, even with the assurances I’ve given you here.

The reason I’m telling you all of this is because  **I don’t want any of this to be a surprise.** I don’t want anyone’s mental health to suffer because they’re forced to relive an experience that was deeply traumatic to many of us. So I’m telegraphing my intent well ahead of time in the hopes that you’ll be able to steel yourselves for what’s to come, and make a decision about whether or not you think you’ll be able to handle it, and if you want to.

I may put another warning in the text itself, to let those of you who would like to read the chapter but don’t think they can handle the event itself know when to stop reading and when to start it again. I’m not sure exactly how that’ll work but I’ll let you know in the notes on the chapter itself.

But I want you to know that no matter what happens, no matter how dark it gets, this is a fix-it. Lexa is going to live. Clarke is going to live. They’re going to live happily ever after with their children. I can’t promise you that there won’t be some bittersweet moments, and I can’t promise you that everyone will get what you consider to be their just desserts – although I  _ can  _ promise you that Pike will – but  **I promise that Clexa will get the happy ending they deserve.** And maybe, someday, I will be able to write an original work that helps to heal these wounds as well, and tell their story right – a corrective emotional experience of a different kind.

Anyway, I’m sure that some of you will have stopped reading by now, and will have decided not to continue with this fic. If that’s the case, I wish you well, and I hope that one day we will meet again.

**If you’re still with me, however, I hope you’ll take the final step of this journey with me, into the Badlands.**


	23. what if this bullet is my legacy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well guys, this is it. More or less, you know what's going to happen in this chapter. But for those of you who don't think they will be able to handle anything approaching what happened in 307 - even if the outcome is different - I will summarize the chapter in the beginning of the next one. 
> 
> Anyway, let's get started on the last stage of this journey. Thank you all for reading, and please let me know what you thought in the comments or on tumblr @n1ghtwr1ter.

Lexa lay in a hazy dream, watching the remaining fingers of sunlight recede from the corners of her bed as Clarke’s fingers traced the lines of scars and tattoos down her back. They had come together again and again over the last several hours, unwilling and unable to be separated from one another for more than the few moments it took them to regain their breath and reach for each other once more. 

After Clarke had ridden her to release that had left both of them shaking, skin damp with sweat and tears, Lexa had only given herself a short while to recover before rolling her mate over in the furs. She had felt her cock stirring inside Clarke again, and at the first answering flutter of the omega’s inner walls it had returned to aching hardness. She had driven herself into Clarke over and over, hands pressing her mate to the bed with bruising force, teeth gripping her neck and growls pouring from her throat, as though if she could possess Clarke, consume her utterly, she wouldn’t have to leave.

Clarke had answered her with wild cries, wrapping her arms around Lexa’s shoulders and her legs around the alpha’s waist and clinging to her tighter and tighter with each thrust, but Lexa felt the futility of it even as they had reached their climax together once more. Even in the grip of their shared pleasure, she had felt desperation clawing at her, and had been unable to resist growling and pushing in deeper. 

Eventually, however, the limits of their bodies forced them to separate, gasping and panting, passing a pitcher of water between them without bothering with cups. The cool liquid had poured down her throat but also down her chest, and when Clarke had burst into giggles at the sight, Lexa had felt something inside her give a lurch that was at once sweet and painful. She had surrendered the pitcher, but, once she was certain that the Sky girl’s thirst was slaked, had reached for her again, if only to share skin this time. She was unwilling to give up even one moment when she could be touching Clarke, feeling the warmth of her body, hearing the beat of her heart and knowing that she was here, was alive, was Lexa’s. 

“This is beautiful,” she heard Clarke murmur now, as the tip of the omega’s finger traced the ink lining her spine, outlining the circles and symbols she could picture clearly in her mind. 

“I got it on my Ascension Day,” Lexa replied, scarcely aware of her words. For the first time, thinking of that tattoo didn’t bring to mind the growls and cries of her fellow Novitiates as they fell one by one to each other’s swords—or to hers. She could see the design through Clarke’s eyes, as something alien and symbolic, instead of representing the desperation and betrayal that had coursed through her when she faced off against her first opponent, seeing the face of someone she’d known her entire life twisted into a murderous snarl. Mani had been quick that day, but Lexa was quicker; and in the end, her will to survive had been strongest. Her people thought that the Spirit of the Commander could somehow influence the results of the Conclave, but she alone knew the truth. The Flame chose its bearer, but only because the only one fit to bear it would be the sole survivor. 

She didn’t attempt to explain any of this to Clarke, not now; these were sacred secrets, meant to be shared only by the current Commander and the  _ Fleimkepa, _ but she couldn’t imagine there being any more secrets between Clarke and herself. But this didn’t seem like the time to reveal them, to reopen the old wounds she’d received—and inflicted on herself—when she Ascended. It might break the dream they remained in, the haven that was this late spring afternoon, by reminding them that the world in which they lived was perilous and might yet demand their blood. 

And so she only said, “A circle for every  _ Natblida _ who died when the Commander chose me.” She could feel Clarke’s fingertips walking back up her spine, counting, and she sucked in a breath, preparing herself for the omega’s next words: 

“Seven circles…but I thought you said there were nine Novitiates at your Conclave. What happened to number eight?” 

Lexa steeled herself, but the recollection didn’t have nearly the same bite when considered here, now, her legs tangled with Clarke’s and her body humming with the memory of being entwined with her mate, hearing her cries of pleasure and passion and her whispers of love. She turned, and was able to offer Clarke a tentative smile. “Her name was Luna. She was skilled, maybe even more than I was, but… After she was forced to face her brother, she refused to fight. Titus wanted me to kill her, but I allowed her to flee. She’s the leader of the Boat People now.” 

Clarke was frowning when she’d first begun to explain, but something in her eyes cleared by the time she was finished. 

“That’s why  _ Floukru _ didn’t offer you their army.” 

Lexa nodded. “They refuse to take part in the wars of our people. They’ll defend themselves against threats or incursions if they have no other choice, but they’re more likely to hide.” She shrugged. “It’s one way of doing things.” 

“But it doesn’t build Coalitions,” Clarke said. A moment later Lexa couldn’t have repeated what was said because every thought in her mind was wiped away by the sight of Clarke Griffin smiling at her, bathed in golden light. Lexa couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, could barely even think except for the thought that Clarke truly must have come from heaven, and that she was blessed herself to be able to bask in such a creature’s loveliness. 

As she continued to stare, eventually she became aware of a blush spreading across her mate’s cheeks. “What?” Clarke asked, her grin growing less sure. 

Lexa shook her head. “Nothing,” she said, feeling a smile stretch across her own face. It felt strange, like she was using muscles she hadn’t in a long time, but it didn’t feel out of place. “Nothing at all.” 

She doubted Clarke would accept that as an explanation, but Lexa swallowed any further questions her mate might have had by pressing her lips to Clarke’s. The omega’s hands gripped at her back and shoulders, nails digging in just hard enough to make desire spark to life once more in her lower belly, and she rolled on top of Clarke, glorying in the sensation of their bodies pressed together once more. Her cock hadn’t yet fully shifted back, and now it stirred again. She felt Clarke gasp into the kiss as her shaft brushed against the wetness that remained between the omega’s legs. Grinning, she pumped her hips, dragging her shaft along Clarke’s slit and coating it in the fresh wave of slickness that spilled from her mate’s opening. 

Soon, Clarke was whimpering in her arms as Lexa continued to slide her cock through the omega’s soaked folds, careful to brush against her clit and tease her entrance without sliding in. But the memory of her mate’s hot, velvety grip, brought to the fore by the tight muscles clasping around her head, made Lexa’s resolve crumble. With a groan, she pushed into Clarke, sheathing herself fully in one long thrust. For one more infinite moment, everything faded into the feeling of Clarke wrapped around her, the harsh cries and pleading whines and frantic whispers of “More, Lexa, faster…harder…please!” For one more brief eternity, she lost herself in her mate, and centered her entire being around making Clarke do the same. 

She knew she’d succeeded when she felt Clarke’s inner walls beginning to flutter around her, and knew that she’d pushed her mate over the edge one final time. With a groan, she allowed herself to do the same, and they fell together, bodies shivering in tandem and hearts keeping the same rhythm as they crested the waves of pleasure crashing through them. Without even thinking about it, she latched onto Clarke’s mating mark with her teeth, gripping tighter every time Clarke rippled around her. She knew she had to be hurting Clarke somewhat, but the cries that spilled from the omega’s lips every time she bit down harder were only those of pleasure.

Somehow she managed to keep rocking her hips even as she spilled her release into her mate’s core, driving in as deep as she could to extend the omega’s orgasm as long as possible. They were wrapped up in one another so tightly that it was hard to remember that they were separate beings instead of one body that shared kindred spirits. 

All good things had to come to an end eventually, and as their shared release tapered off, Lexa released her hold on Clarke’s throat. She could see dark blue and purple marks ringing the faded bite, and winced with a guilty sort of glee: while she knew she must have caused her mate some pain, the thought that Clarke would be wearing her mark so clearly on her neck made her burn with alpha pride. For a long moment, long enough for Lexa to start panicking, Clarke remained still beneath her, cunt still pulsing weakly around Lexa’s slowly softening shaft. Just when she was about to lean in and kiss the omega, asking what was wrong, her mate’s eyes flew open.

“That was…” she sighed, throwing her arms around Lexa’s neck, but her words didn’t continue. Although she took comfort in the embrace, the alpha found herself vibrating with anxiety. 

“Was what, Clarke?” 

But her Sky girl just smiled and pulled her closer, pressing her lips to Lexa’s. She melted into the kiss, but in it she could taste the bittersweetness of their impending parting. Lexa shut her eyes, steeling herself, and when Clarke pulled away once more to whisper, “I have to go,” Lexa was able to nod. 

“I know.” But even though she’d said it half a hundred times, in half a dozen ways, throughout that hazy afternoon, she was unable to resist murmuring,  _ “Ai hod yu in.”  _

_ “Ai hod yu in seintaim, Leksa,” _ Clarke said, her voice cracking with the tears that trembled, unshed, in her achingly blue eyes.  _ “Ai tombom, ai houmon…” _

Those words broke Lexa precisely because she had never expected to hear them coming from Clarke—or from anyone, really, since she had lost Costia. She had thought that something so rare and beautiful as what she’d had with her first love would, once lost, be lost forever, but it appeared that she had been wrong. It was different from what she had expected, the glorious bounty of summer bursting forth in her heart, instead of the delicate, beautiful first blossoms of spring, but it was as present and real as Clarke was in her arms. She could never deny it again—and what was more, she didn’t want to. 

_ When you return, _ she thought, gazing down at her mate, tears threatening to spill from her eyes,  _ I will tell the world who you are to me. I will claim you before all of Polis as my mate, my love, and my queen. Our pups will be born in the light of our love, instead of the shadow of what we must hide. _ She didn’t say any of this to Clarke. She didn’t want her mate going into danger with such thoughts in her mind, distracting her from her goal and forcing her to worry about the future. But she thought that perhaps the omega could read some of it in her eyes anyway. 

Slowly, with lingering kisses and gentle touches and an unwillingness to take their eyes off one another for even a moment, as though if they were to look away the other might disappear, they disentangled from each other. But something felt different to Lexa, and she thought she caught a glimpse of it in Clarke’s glances, in the way some part of her always seemed to be touching Lexa at every moment, even as she sought out her clothing and haltingly pulled it on. They had resolved back into their own separate beings, their own separate souls, but it was as though they had each left a piece of themselves within the other, so that no matter how far they might go, they would never be truly alone. 

The realization made something glow to life in her chest, something she had not felt this strongly for a very long while. It was so unfamiliar that it took her a moment to recognize it for what it was: hope. For the first time she could remember, she was truly hopeful that their maybe, someday would become an always, now. Her throat grew thick at the thought, and when Clarke looked at her after tugging on her boots, she didn’t have the words to express it. But something soft and gentle and understanding in Clarke’s gaze told her that her mate knew. 

There weren’t words to express what this parting meant, so neither of them tried. Lexa backed Clarke all the way up to the door, pressing kisses to every part of her mate she could reach, only pulling away when she felt the omega stop. Clarke trembled in her arms, and Lexa pulled away to see her eyes squeezed shut against another onslaught of tears, but she brushed them away with her thumb and gently lifted Clarke’s chin, urging her mate to look at her. Even though she knew her own eyes weren’t clear, she smiled anyway before pressing a final kiss to Clarke’s lips.

_ “Gyon au,” _ she said softly, memorizing every aspect of Clarke’s face as best she could. “Or I will never let you leave.” 

Knowing she could not stand to see it, she turned away then. She heard the click of the lock, the soft thud as the door closed, and when she looked back, Clarke was gone. 

***

For all that she would have preferred to lie in bed, lips and body tingling with the memory of Clarke, Lexa knew that she could not. The day was waning, the sun slipping behind the hills that ringed Polis, and she had much work to do. The main body of the army of the Twelve Clans was already on its way to Arkadia, but the staffs and guard contingents of each Clan's  _ wormana _ would be accompanying her when she set out at dawn. She needed to pack, needed to work out a chain of command for her field marshals, needed to figure out her forces’ disposition once they reached their destination… 

It was much like a seating chart for a state dinner, she thought with wry amusement as she slowly gathered her things. _Ingranrona's_ army could not be positioned adjacent to _Sangedakru’s,_ as they hated each other; neither could _Delfikru,_ _Trishana,_ or _Yujleda._ It was the kind of puzzle that had always served to occupy her mind when it was in turmoil, but it didn’t seem to be doing her much good today. Right now, she wasn’t fighting off her own anxiety, but instead struggling to resist the pull of her instincts that told her Clarke was still here, was probably getting packed up, was waiting until cover of darkness to slip out of the city with Octavia. If she went downstairs now, she could see Clarke one last time, could hold her, kiss her—

_ Absolutely not, _ she told herself firmly. Her alpha thrashed and roared in protest, but her will held.  _ I need to get dressed and then finish packing. Titus no doubt has an urgent report on the generals who have arrived, and the conversation if he bustles in here and finds me without a stitch on is one I never want to have. _ With a shudder at the possibility, Lexa found the clothes she and Clarke had discarded and pulled them back on, although she couldn’t keep from shivering at the memory of her mate’s eager hands tugging them off her body. But although the thought made her want to keen with loss, she couldn’t help smiling at the remembrance. 

It was odd, she reflected as she resumed packing, folding her more durable and weatherproof clothes into the large trunk at the foot of her bed, that she had not heard from Titus yet. She was surprised that he would have missed the opportunity to badger her some more about her duty to her people, and why he disagreed with what she was attempting to do here. She didn’t look forward to those attempts, but she thought of them with more equanimity. Her own doubts had calmed, at least for now, in the eye of Clarke’s hurricane of certainty. She found herself rehearsing measured responses to any of the arguments she thought he might try, and was able to picture him bending perhaps a little. _It will be a long while before he sees as I do,_ she thought, _but he is wise. When we can show him the new world we have built, he will come around._  

_ BANG! _

The noise ricocheted around the halls of her tower like a thunderstorm indoors, but there was no mistaking it for what it was. As soon as Lexa heard the gunshot she was off and running, pausing only to snatch up the closest weapon she had to hand: her knife. Her mind had gone just as keen, just as pointed in the face of the danger she was sprinting towards, with only room for one thought: 

_ Get to Clarke. _

She flew down the stairs to Clarke’s corridor just in time to see her mate rounding the corner from her room, eyes wild with desperation. They widened as she saw Lexa, her mouth opening to say something, but Lexa had caught sight of a dark-robed figure behind her, glinting metal in his hand. She reacted before she could even think, surging forward and seizing her mate’s shoulders, flinging her aside as hard as she could before reaching for her knife to accost the threat. Her fingers never reached their destination.

The gun barked one more time, and she felt a shockwave pass through her body, jolting her backwards. All of a sudden she was cold, colder than she’d ever been in her life, like all the warmth was draining out of her body from somewhere around her stomach. Her legs wouldn’t hold her; her knees buckled and she began to fall, only to be caught in the cradle of someone’s arms. 

The scent told her a moment later that it was Clarke, but it seemed faint somehow, as though her Sky girl was far away and Lexa was only catching the edge of her presence, even though Clarke was right here, holding Lexa, begging her to “Stay with me, Lexa, please no, god no, Lexa you have to hold on. It’s gonna be all right, you’re all right, I’m gonna fix you. Fuck, god—I need a healer!” she shouted, her voice raw with agony and fear.  _ “Somebody get me a fucking healer!”   _

Clarke’s eyes were boring into hers, fear and desperation and anguish, and she wanted to tell Clarke that it was all right, she was all right, she wasn’t in any pain and they needed to figure out what had happened, but—ah. There it was: the pain. She looked down to see blood pouring out of her, drowning Clarke’s hands where they pressed powerfully against her in inky darkness. A chill shot through her once more, separate from the warmth draining from her body. It carried a dark thought:  _ This is bad, isn’t it?  _ She looked up again, and saw Titus. 

There was anguish on his face, and misery, but finality as well, as though he had heard her thought and understood. As she scanned his familiar visage, twisted into something unfamiliar by the circumstances, she realized almost absently that he was holding the gun. At first it made no sense to her. Titus hated guns, was always the first to remind her people that they were forbidden by  _ Kongeda _ law. But then she understood. 

_ He did this. But…why? _

Clarke was still calling out for a healer, or at least for medical supplies to be brought to her, and she could hear the sound of running feet as guards scrambled to do her bidding. Her mate’s scent poured into her nostrils now, redolent with something close to panic, but when Lexa looked up at her again her eyes held an iron certainty. “You are  _ not _ dying,” she muttered, hands pressing even harder against Lexa’s wound, and the alpha abruptly became aware that this was the source of her pain. If Clarke were simply to stop, she would feel better. Might even be able to sleep. She was so tired…

_ “Lexa!”  _

Her mate’s voice jolted her back to the present. “I need your spirit to stay where it is,” Clarke told her firmly, looking pale but determined. “Do you understand me? You’re not going anywhere.”

But her words had recalled Lexa to the earliest days of her training, when she was just a young pup among the other Nightbloods. She had not known, then, what she would do, what she would become during her lifetime, but she was being told for the first time what she was made for. When the current Commander died, his Spirit— _ Keryon kom Heda _ —would choose one of them, the worthiest, proven by their success in the Conclave. It would be her duty until her own death to carry that Flame…and then, just as her predecessor had done, to pass it to her successor. A long, unbroken line of  _ Hedas, _ all carrying the same torch, ever since the first,  _ Praimheda… _ And now it was her turn. 

She looked back to Titus and saw the question in his eyes. Even though it was hard, far harder than it should have been, Lexa nodded. 

“Help me get her to the bed!” Clarke was shouting, and she felt hands on her, shaky ones, but the arms who carried her into Clarke’s room and placed her on the furs were strong. She was shaking herself; she could feel the strength leaving her body now, as well as the warmth. She wanted to tell Clarke that it was all right, that death was not the end, that her Spirit would soon choose its successor and Lexa would be returned to Clarke, albeit in another form; but all she could force out from between her lips was “Don’t be afraid.” 

Clarke looked at her like she was insane, but Lexa could only see the beauty of her, like a clear, proud melody. Her part in this unfinished symphony was over, but Clarke’s would go on—and so would their children. This was her legacy, she realized, just as much as the Flame was her legacy—but this part was hers, only hers. A smile tugged at her lips.  _ Despite everything that’s happened, it will have been worth it.  _ She _ was worth it.  _

Clarke screamed again for a healer, for supplies, for anything, before seizing the knife strapped to Lexa’s thigh and using it to slit open her shirt. Blood was pouring from her belly, more than she could have believed a body could contain, but Clarke only took a moment to assess the situation before diving in again. Someone had brought her clean rags, and she packed them into the wound, compressing with all of her might. Lexa wanted to take her hand, tell her to stop, that it wasn’t necessary, but she didn’t have the strength to lift her arm. 

Then Titus was looming over Clarke’s shoulder again, the look on his face grim. He had a red pouch in his hand, and Lexa knew without looking what it was. “She’s losing too much blood,” Clarke muttered. “I need to stanch the bleeding and then we can see about getting her a transfusion. Do you know what blood type she is?” But Titus didn’t answer. He was untying the laces the bound the pouch, unfolding it to reveal an old metal container that Lexa had only seen once before. After a moment, Clarke turned and noticed it too. 

“What the hell is that?” she demanded, but Titus’s eyes were locked on Lexa’s. Again, she nodded, and he made his way around Clarke to approach her. All at once, she realized that before her fight ended, there was something more she must do. 

_ “Sen ai in, Tytos,” _ she forced out, as strongly as she could, from between her chattering teeth. She put as much alpha command as remained to her in her words, and Titus had no choice but to bend closer to hear them.  _ “Yu nou trana bash op Klark nodotaim nowe. Yu na shil em op, en osir yongon. Swega em klin.”  _

Titus’s eyes widened, but he nodded. _ “Ai swega em klin.”  _

At that, Lexa let herself sink back into the furs. Sleep was approaching; she could feel it spreading its wings, drawing a final darkness over her. Everything was growing dim, but at the same time her purpose had never felt clearer.  _ “Den dula yu job op. Badan neson-de op kom we yu badan ai op, Fleimkepa. Badan oso kru. Oso kru,  _ ogeda.” 

He nodded again, and she could see tears starting in his eyes. But she could not let herself see them fall; he was Titus, and Titus did not feel things like this. Death is not the end, he had told her all her life. Death was nothing to be mourned; it was merely a changing of the guard. If she were to see him mourn her, it would mean that he didn’t believe his own words. And she needed him to believe them; she needed to believe them, now more than ever. When she looked back, he had turned aside.

She turned to Clarke, who had been watching the exchange with something like astonishment and fury. “Listen to me,” she said, even though it was harder than ever to get the words out. “Titus will protect you until the next Commander is chosen. Whoever it is—” her thoughts flew to Aden with mingled regret and pride—“will keep you and our pups safe. Your people will be safe, like I promised—”

“No,” Clarke snarled, and Lexa trembled a bit at the vehemence in her voice. “You are  _ not _ dying. I won’t let you leave me like this, not again!” 

Lexa’s eyes widened, her resolve wavering at the blatant fury in Clarke’s eyes, but only for a moment. “You need to let me do this, Clarke.”

“The fuck I do,” the omega spat. “We’re mates, Lexa. You don’t get to decide this for both of us. I know I can fix you, and that’s what I’m gonna do.” 

Absurdly, Lexa felt her own anger flare up in the face of Clarke’s defiance. “There isn’t time for that!” she said, willing Clarke to understand. Her mate had always been stubborn to the point of pigheadedness, and Lexa had always admired her determination, her unwillingness to give up even when everything seemed hopeless. It had allowed her to persevere through situations that should have been impossible, and even to triumph. It was one of the things that had made Lexa fall so hopelessly in love with her. But right now it was hindering her ability to see that the best thing for their people, and for their children, was to let her pass on. 

“The Coalition needs a strong Commander or it will break apart,” she said urgently, reaching out to take Clarke’s hand. The omega didn’t let her. She continued working, packing fresh bandages into the wound and removing the bloodiest rags. Lexa persisted. “I won’t be able to save you.” 

For the first time since the gunshot, Clarke turned to face her fully. The sweat of her exertions stood out on her brow, and her face was still drawn, but she looked entirely resolute. “You don’t have to save me,” she said, her voice shaking with conviction. “Now it’s my turn to save you.” 

Dimly, Lexa could hear the door swinging open, footsteps, the low hum of voices – but her gaze was locked with Clarke’s. The certainty that she was right still throbbed within her, but the anguish and determination and fury on her mate’s face had caused it to waver. She still believed that she would be doing the right thing, the best thing, to allow herself to pass on, and let the Flame be given to a strong new bearer—but the pain of her wound paled in comparison to the thought of leaving Clarke this way, feeling angry and hurt and abandoned.

_ You can’t leave me like this, not again, _ Clarke had said, and Lexa remembered how much it had taken from her to turn away from her mate at the Mountain. 

_ I left you to die then, but this time I’ll be leaving so you can live, _ she thought, but the words did not bring her the peace she sought. 

The low hum of voices rose suddenly, making both of them turn. Titus was shouting, arguing with someone – Lexa thought it looked like Octavia, but her vision was slowly darkening.  _ It doesn’t seem that I have a choice, _ she thought, and regret stung her, but only for a moment. She had always known what her fate would be: to die, either at the birth of a new Commander or in order to pass on the Commander’s Spirit to the next. 

There had always been comfort in the knowledge. But now, with the promise of what could have been, the life she could have had with Clarke, the peace she could have brought to her people, there was less—but there was nothing more she could do. Her life had taken her down strange paths, ones she never could have expected, since meeting the girl who fell from the sky, but ultimately all paths led to the same end.

That end had come sooner than she had hoped, but she didn’t regret one moment of it. When Clarke looked back at her, tears starting to spill from her eyes, she was able to smile, even as her own mirrored them.  _ “Ai gonplei ste odon, Klark,” _ she said with the last of her breath,  _ “bai ai na hod yu in otaim.”  _

_ “Then live for me!” _ Clarke cried, voice shaking with tears and vehemence. But Lexa’s eyes were already closing. 

***

_ This can’t be happening.  _

Clarke’s mind froze on just that one phrase even as her hands worked frantically to stanch the flow of black blood pouring from her mate. 

_ No. This can’t be happening. This can’t be real.  _

Not even an hour ago, Lexa had been warm, had been moving inside of her, had cried and gasped and roared in pleasure, had driven Clarke insane with the way their bodies fit together. She had smelled of  _ mate _ and  _ home _ , and love had shone from her eyes, so powerfully that Clarke had almost been blinded by it. But she had accepted Lexa’s love, and offered her own in return. It had felt like a promise: I will always be with you. 

But now Lexa’s eyes were darkening, the bright spark behind them fading away. The words that were coming from her mouth weren’t those of love or devotion, but those of finality. She was saying something about her spirit passing on, the next Commander protecting Clarke, her people, their pups, but it didn’t make any sense. The idea that they could have made it through so many hardships, so many impossible predicaments, so many potential endings, only to be parted here, by a stray bullet from the hand of a man who loved Lexa almost as much as Clarke did—she had seen the agony in his eyes when he realized what he’d done – made no sense. Life without Lexa didn’t make any sense. 

_ I can’t do this without you.  _

How could this have happened? This was supposed to be just another one of those times when Clarke Griffin rode out to save her people—only this time, once she had done her duty, she would be returning to her love, to the woman who meant more to her than anyone in the world. They were going to be a family, she remembered thinking, and it had made her grin despite herself as she had flung her possessions into a knapsack: a few sets of clothes, her gun, the blue sash Lexa had insisted she wear for state occasions. It was going to be difficult, and dangerous, but she couldn’t conceive of a world in which she failed. They were going to win. 

And then Octavia had burst in, looking angry but pale. Before Clarke was able to ask her what was wrong, she’d had her answer: Titus entered after her, a gun in his hand. He’d held it awkwardly, clearly unfamiliar with its weight, but it had been pointed at her. “What are you doing?” she’d asked him, her voice shaking as she slowly raised her hands. 

“I’m sorry it had to come to this,” Titus had said, “but I can see no other way. You have poisoned the Commander’s mind, made her captive to your influence, and that cannot be.”

“Don’t do this,” she’d gritted out. “Lexa will know it was you, and she’ll have you killed.” 

But Titus shook his head. “She’ll know it was _Skaikru._ _Skaikru_ weapon, with the assassin just there.” He nodded to Octavia, who let out a low growl but said nothing. “It will be my word against hers, and who do you think Lexa will believe? She will see _Skaikru’s_ treachery for what it is, and will do what is right.” 

His finger had jerked on the trigger, and the shot went wild. Clarke was already moving, grabbing Octavia and hauling her out of the way behind the bed. He’d turned and fired again, but he was wielding it like a sword, slashing it through the air instead of tracking them steadily, and the shot pinged off the metal frame of the door as Clarke dashed through it, Octavia hot on her heels. “We need to get out of here,” she shouted. “Make for the stables—”

“Clarke!” 

Like it was a nightmare, Lexa had appeared before her, eyes widening. Clarke opened her mouth to tell Lexa to get out of the way, to run, but before she could say anything the alpha was rushing at her, seizing her in a burning grip and flinging her against the wall. She hit it hard, but her grunt of pain was obscured by the sound of another gunshot. 

_ No. Oh god, no. This can’t be happening. This can’t be real… _

But it was. She had caught Lexa just before the alpha had fallen, had screamed for a healer and for medical supplies until her throat was raw, and had seen the guards who had rushed to the scene scrambling to do her bidding, but she only had eyes for Lexa. She almost hadn’t wanted to look at the darkness spilling from her mate, but she knew she had to assess the wound, had to do something, had to fix this—because only she could. 

_ Calm down. Remember your training. Remember what Mom taught you. Apply pressure to the wound.  _

Mechanically, she had. She’d pressed her hands against Lexa’s stomach so hard that the alpha had let out a gasp of pain, but she’d refused to relent. She was holding Lexa’s life inside of her with her bare hands, even as it was spilling through her fingers, but she wasn’t going to let her mate slip away. Wasn’t going to let her leave, not again. 

Not like this. 

“It’s an abdominal wound so she’ll need antibiotics. Also fluids, maybe a transfusion,” Clarke had muttered to herself, repeating Abby’s words like a mantra. But they didn’t make sense, not in this context. She had no idea what type of blood Lexa would need, and there wasn’t a way to get it to her intravenously here. She knew that the Polis healers had rudimentary means of staving off infection, but this was an abdominal wound. If Lexa didn’t get proper antibiotics soon, she was at risk of sepsis. The only thing she could hope to do now would be to stanch the bleeding. But if she could do that, then she could get Lexa to her mom. 

And yet here she was, the stupid fucking alpha, the woman who had mated Clarke and made her fall in love and helped make the pups that were growing inside of her, telling Clarke to let her go. “No way,” she had snarled, “no fucking way. You are not dying. You’re not leaving me again.” 

Because every time Lexa gasped out her request for Clarke to let her slip away, let some other Commander take her place, all she could see was Lexa’s back as she turned away and left Clarke at the Mountain. All she could see was Lexa making the decision for them. But they were partners; they were mates. They were in this together.

_ And if—no, when—you make it through this, we’re gonna have a conversation about deciding things without consulting each other.  _

Then Titus had approached, holding something—a box, and what looked like surgical tools, although Clarke flinched from them instinctively. No way had those been sterilized. And anyway, this was no proper operating theater, and Lexa hadn’t been stabilized yet, wouldn’t be ready to handle surgery until she’d been doped up and given as much crystalloid solution as she could manage and pumped full of antibiotics, so what the fuck was he doing? He came closer, and Clarke bared her teeth. “You stay away from her!” 

But he had ignored her snarls, and had leaned in to hear Lexa issue him what sounded like a command in  _ Trigedasleng. _ Clarke’s mind was so choked with a combination of panic and her mother’s words instructing her in what to do for a wound like this that she couldn’t parse it, but whatever it was sounded final. When the  _ Fleimkepa _ stepped back, there were tears in his eyes. Clarke’s own widened. “No—fuck! Dammit, you are  _ not _ dying, do you understand?” she barked, desperation hollowing out her voice. 

Somebody had provided a bowl of clean rags, soaking in what smelled like alcohol, although she could barely detect the fumes – all she seemed to be able to smell was iron. She removed the saturated ones, dumping them unceremoniously on the bed, and pressed the fresh ones into the wound. She thought that the bleeding might be starting to slow, but she couldn’t be certain. All she could do was keep going.

Because that was what she did, wasn’t it? She persisted. She was Clarke Griffin, and she never gave up. 

The idea had been exhausting to her for a while, but now it gave her a sense of fresh purpose. Lexa was pale and shaking, the color leeching from her lips, and Clarke knew what that meant: she was going into hypovolemic shock. “We need to keep her warm,” she shouted, and began tugging at the furs on the bed, drawing them over Lexa’s body, but she felt the alpha’s hand on her arm. 

“The Coalition needs a strong Commander or it will break apart,” she said, her voice as weak as Clarke had ever heard it. “I won’t be able to save you.”

That made Clarke turn, even as she continued working to pile on as many blankets as she could. She was dimly aware that Octavia had brought over a bunch more, but all she could see was her mate’s face, her clear green eyes grown cloudy but still filled with urgency, desperation for Clarke to understand. But she couldn’t understand this. She never would. “You don’t need to save me,” she’d said, willing Lexa to understand her. “Now it’s my turn to save you.” 

But comprehension hadn’t dawned in the alpha’s eyes, only regret, and Clarke realized that Lexa had already given herself up as lost. Her head fell back against the pillow, and Clarke had to lean in kissing-close to hear her next words:  _ “Ai gonplei ste odon, Klark, ba ai na hod yu in otaim.”  _

My fight is over, Clarke, but I will always love you. 

Clarke shook her head frantically, tears pouring down her face.  _ “Then live for me!” _ she’d cried, but Lexa’s eyes had slipped shut. 

With shaking hands, she’d reached out and placed two fingers on Lexa’s neck, just above the mating mark. Her own throbbed the moment she made contact with the alpha’s skin –  _ so cold, god, I need more blankets _ —and for one terrifying second she couldn’t feel anything, but then—a pulse. Faint, but it was there. 

_ She’s not dead yet. And I won’t let it happen.  _

Peeling back the blankets so she could pack in more rags, Clarke saw that the bleeding had, in fact, slowed. She let out a surprised sob, but fresh determination flooded her body.  _ Now we’re getting somewhere.  _ She could see bandages set out on the bed, and while she didn’t think Lexa was ready for them, it wouldn’t be long.  _ If I can wrap the wound tight enough, I can get her to Arkadia before the blockade goes into effect, _ she thought.  _ My mom will be able to fix her.  _

Part of her knew that there would soon be an army between her and Arkadia, and that there was no way Pike would allow the leader of those he’d declared to be enemies to receive any aid from her people, but she latched onto the thought like a lifeline. Right now she had to stop Lexa from dying. She could worry about saving her life later. 

“Clarke,” came Octavia’s warning voice, and she whirled to see Titus returning. There was a blade in his hand, the thin scalpel she had seen in the pouch he’d set out. She tensed, preparing to fight, but his focus was not on her. 

“Step aside, Clarke.” 

“Like hell,” she snarled. “What the fuck are you doing, Titus?”

“The Flame must be passed on,” he said, his eyes still fixed on Lexa’s still face. _“Yu gonplei ste odon, Leksa kom Trikru. Gonplei kom Heda kigon feva.”_  

He reached for her, but Clarke swatted his hand away. “Don’t you fucking touch her,” she hissed, seething with fury. “She’s not dead, and I’m not letting her die!”

“It is what she would have wanted,” Titus said, breathing heavily, his gaze flicking restlessly between Lexa’s face and hers. “She knew that the Commander’s fight must continue. The Flame must have a new bearer, one who is strong enough to carry it. Without its light, our people will fall into darkness once again. This has always been our way.”

“Not. Anymore,” Clarke bit off, hands curling into fists. She could feel the squelch of the liquid that soaked them, but she kept her focus on Titus. 

“Without a strong _Heda_ to lead us, the Coalition will shatter,” he thundered. “Chaos will beckon, and our people will answer its call! Before Lexa brought us together, the Clans were locked in endless war. If you do not let me do this, you will destroy us. All of us.”

Titus was focused on her fully now, eyes filled with the fire of his convictions. Clarke could almost believe it. She’d heard from Lexa about the violence and death of the years before she’d formed the Coalition, the constant cycle of war and retaliation that had governed her people’s lives, and the struggle of each Commander to stem the tide of blood. Only Lexa had succeeded, stanching the freely bleeding wounds of her people and giving them a chance to recover, to survive, to thrive. 

_ And she deserves that chance herself.  _

“Not gonna happen,” Clarke rumbled. Her entire body seemed to vibrate with snarls as she stared down Titus, practically daring him to try and touch her mate. She was suddenly aware that if he made even the slightest of moves, she would have no compunctions about ripping his throat out. “You will not touch her,” she gritted out, teeth bared. 

In the face of her protective fury, Titus had no choice but to back away. He took each step like it was paining him, but he moved. Clarke backed him all the way to the door, but there he paused, wrenching his gaze away from hers and turning to the guards. “Leave, now,” he told them heavily. “The Commander is dead.  _ Wanheda _ wishes to keep vigil over her body during the night, but at dawn we will light the beacon to call the Clan chiefs, and the Conclave will begin.” Clarke could hear them murmuring to each other, confusion plain in their voices and scents, but ultimately they did as he said. 

Titus’s eyes flicked over her shoulder once more before returning to hers. “You have until the sun rises,” he told her, voice hoarse with pain and anger, “but then I will return to do what must be done.” 

Clarke said nothing, only snarled at him until the door thudded shut behind him. She whirled, barely aware of the lock clicking – she only had eyes for Lexa. She checked the alpha’s pulse again. It was faint, but it was there. Her breathing was slow but even, each hitch of her chest making Clarke’s heart seem to beat again. “We need to keep her warm and keep the bleeding down until we can get her to my mom,” she said, peeling back the furs again and beginning to unpack the bloody rags. 

Octavia’s hand on her arm made her snarl but not stop until the other omega’s fingers tightened, restricting her movement. She looked up, prepared to snap her teeth in Octavia’s face, but the fear and uncertainty in her friend’s eyes stopped her. “What are we gonna do, Clarke?” she said, sounding and smelling halfway to panic. “The Grounders will never let us take her to the enemy, and Pike will kill her on sight.” 

But Clarke shook her head. “We’ll worry about that when we get there. Right now we just need to stabilize her enough to get her out of here.” 

Octavia’s voice was frantic as she replied, “And how are we supposed to do that? We’re locked in here and Titus has the key.” 

Clarke finished packing fresh rags into the wound and held them there, mind churning. Octavia was right. They couldn’t just go barreling through this head-on, or they were going to fail, and Lexa was going to die. They needed a plan. 

“If I can get the door open, can you find us a way out of here?” she asked, turning back to Octavia. After a moment of chewing her lip, the other omega nodded. 

“I think so. Indra’s in the city, and I think she’ll help us. But Clarke, how are you—what are you doing?” 

As soon as Octavia had started speaking, Clarke had begun rooting around in Lexa’s pockets, searching for what she knew her mate always carried. Her panic spiked when she was forced to admit that it wasn’t in those damnably tight pants, but then her eyes lit on Lexa’s wrist. Fingers flying furiously, she untied the leather loop from around her left wrist and tugged her prize out from under her mate’s (entirely too still and cold) hand. 

“This is the Commander’s Key,” she said, holding it out to Octavia. “It’ll open any door in the tower.” Eyes wide, Octavia took the key, fingers closing over the bronze bow shaped like the symbol on Lexa’s forehead. “Be careful,” Clarke told her, “but…hurry.” 

“I will,” the other omega promised, but Clarke was already turning back to her mate. 

“You just need to hold on a little longer,” she told Lexa, working to stem the tide of black blood with clean cloth. “I’m gonna fix you, and then we’re gonna fix this fucked-up world. We’re gonna fix everything—together.” Her eyes burned with tears, but she swiped them away before they could fall. She was going to need her vision to see this through; something told her she would need everything she had. But that was all right, because it was Lexa’s life on the line, and Clarke would do whatever it took. 

“Just stay with me.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigedasleng:
> 
> Floukru: Boat People 
> 
> Ai hod yu in: I love you
> 
> Seintaim: Too
> 
> Tombom: heart 
> 
> Houmon: spouse (wife, in this case)
> 
> Gyon au: go
> 
> Ingranrona: Plains Riders
> 
> Sangedakru: Desert Clan
> 
> Delfikru: Delphi Clan
> 
> Trishana: Shining Forest
> 
> Yujleda: Broadleaf Clan
> 
> Kongeda: Coalition
> 
> Sen ai in, Tytos: Listen to me, Titus
> 
> Yu nou trana bash op Klark nodotaim nowe. Yu na shil em op, en osir yongon. Swega em klin: You will not try to harm   
> Clarke ever again. You will protect her, and our children.
> 
> Ai swega em klin: I swear it.
> 
> Den dula yu job op. Badan neson-de op kom we yu badan ai op, Fleimkepa. Badan oso kru. Oso kru, ogeda: Then do your job. Serve the next as you have served me, Flamekeeper. Serve our people. All of our people.
> 
> Ai gonplei ste odon, ba ai na hod yu in otaim: My fight is over, but I will always love you.
> 
> Yu gonplei ste odon, Leksa kom Trikru. Gonplei kom Heda kigon feva: Your fight is over, Lexa of the Tree People. The Commander’s fight continues.


	24. no light, no light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, kru - Mass Effect : Andromeda came out, and I've been doing almost nothing else ever since. But! I've finished my first playthrough, and you can expect some Rybee stories from me in the very near future. In the meantime, let me know what you think about this chapter in the comments and on tumblr @n1ghtwr1ter!

Clarke spent the long, dark hours waiting for Octavia in a haze of heartsickness and exhaustion. Her hands moved mechanically, going through the motions of checking Lexa's pulse and body temperature and refreshing her bedding and bandages with minimal input from her brain. Every time she had to remove the bandages to refresh them or examine the wound, the darkness oozing from the bullet hole made her suck in a breath before diving back into her work, chest hitching with sobs she did not allow to escape.

The only time she left Lexa’s side was when she realized that night had fallen, and she could no longer see what she was doing with any accuracy. Shaking with nerves and the strain of the past several hours, she moved about the room, lighting the copious candles with which Lexa had supplied her before flying back to her mate's side with her heart in her mouth. She had to take several deep breaths before her fingers stopped shaking long enough to check Lexa’s pulse once more. She’d nearly collapsed in relief to find it faint but steady.

At one point, she heard hushed voices in the hall outside and, after making certain that Lexa was breathing, reached for the knife that still lay on the bed. Gripping it tightly in a shaking hand, she waited for the door to open, certain that it must be Titus returning for whatever the Flame was that Lexa still carried. She wasn’t afraid, not of him at least – there was no room in her for fear of anything besides her mate leaving her behind and going where she couldn’t follow.

The whispering died away after only a few minutes. Clarke heaved a quiet sigh, but her relief lasted only a few seconds before terror rose again in her throat and she hastened back to Lexa's side.

After what seemed like far too long a time – how could so much blood be contained inside a human body, honestly? – the bleeding slowed enough that Clarke was comfortable compressing it with tightly wrapped bandages. She had saved the largest and cleanest of the rags for this purpose, and she now dipped them in the bowl of alcohol the guards had brought her, sterilizing them as best she could before surveying the Commander’s prone form, attempting to decide on the best way to accomplish her goal.

Eventually Clarke settled on propping her mate upright against the side of her body so that she could have easier access. Maneuvering Lexa into position was harrowing; she had to move with wincing slowness so as not to jostle the wound into bleeding faster. She didn’t know exactly how much more blood Lexa could afford to lose, but she couldn’t imagine it was much.

After a few extremely close calls that had her heart beating hummingbird-fast in her throat, Clarke tied off the last bandage and eased herself out from under Lexa, gently lowering her torso to the pillows once more. In the candles’ glow, the Commander could just be resting, and for one aching moment Clarke allowed herself to yearn back to that afternoon – to imagine that the light of the flames was the sun, and that Lexa was merely taking a nap, exhausted by the sex marathon they’d just had. Clarke practically burned with how much she wanted to be in that alternate universe, where they had nothing to worry about, nothing threatening to part them – neither an approaching war, nor a stray bullet…

Tears pooled at the corners of her eyes, but she dashed them away, forcing herself back into reality. She had no time for wishful thinking; right now, she needed to figure out how to get them out of the city. _And then I need to figure out what the fuck I’m gonna do once I get to Arkadia._ Failure – whether they were detected at the city gates, or unable to make it to Arkadia ahead of the blockade – wasn’t an option. She refused to even consider it.

_Okay. One thing at a time._ Dumping her clothes out of her knapsack, Clarke packed it full of the medical supplies she thought she could use on their journey, then went looking for warm blankets. They had been lucky so far in having a mild winter and a milder spring, but the nights were still cold, and Clarke didn’t want to save her mate from a gunshot only to let her perish of hypothermia. Her work was hindered by the fear that closed its hand around her throat every time she took her eyes off Lexa, but the thought of her lover shivering in some forest as Clarke tried desperately to keep her warm spurred her on.

She was halfway through tearing the room apart before she remembered the chest near the closet, which was packed with blankets and draped with a heavy dark fur cloak that Clarke thought might be bear. After a moment of consideration, she draped the thing over the bed as best she could, and then carefully enveloped her mate’s still form in its thick folds. Because of how badly her fingers were shaking, it took her a couple of tries to fasten it under Lexa’s chin.

After a moment of consideration, she stuck her gun in the waistband of her pants. Given what had happened to Lexa, she almost didn’t want to touch it, but it had already saved her life a handful of times and she didn’t want to throw away the chance that it might do so again.

Then there was nothing else she could think of to do, even though she tried – god, she tried. Anything was better than being left alone to her thoughts, to endlessly replay the memory of watching Lexa’s life seep out of her body around Clarke’s fingers. But attempting to acquire any other kind of provisions would require leaving the room, and while she thought she could pick the lock, she didn’t know who she might find on the other side of the door. _And I don’t know what Titus has been telling everybody._

Clarke knew he’d told the guards who’d attended them and brought her the medical supplies that Lexa was dead. But it was what he might say after that concerned her more. He had been desperate enough to attack her with a weapon he didn’t know how to use; couple that with fury and grief and he might find some way to place the blame on her or Octavia. He had sworn to Lexa that he wouldn’t try to harm her, but would he apply that oath to inciting others to violence? Word in Polis tower traveled fast; all it would take would be some incautious speech in the wrong ears and the entire city would know within the hour that _Wanheda_ had killed their Commander.

But she didn’t have long to gnaw on that particular worry: a low, four-note whistle informed her that Octavia had returned. Before she’d even finished parroting it back, the lock was clicking open. Octavia’s eyes flicked around the room as though searching for enemies, settling briefly on Lexa before coming to rest on Clarke.

“Indra’s waiting for us at the stable with a cart,” she said quietly. “Are you ready? We’re gonna have to be fast.” Clarke nodded, relief clashing with renewed tension as she stood. It would be risky, making their way down to the stables at the base of the tower, but at last she had something to do besides imagine ever more horrific ways that this could end.

Swinging her knapsack onto her shoulder, she reached for the pile of blankets. “We need to bring as many of these as we can, to keep her warm,” she told Octavia. “Maybe we can even use them to disguise her or something.”

“Way ahead of you,” the other omega said with a tight grin, stepping aside to reveal a rough wooden wheelbarrow. “Swiped this from the washroom. If we move fast enough, don’t make eye contact, and don’t get recognized, we could just be bringing a bunch of dirty blankets to get cleaned.”

Clarke was already in motion. After lining the bottom of the wheelbarrow with a particularly plush blanket to keep Lexa from being jostled too much, she locked her arms under her mate’s shoulders and then nodded to her friend. Octavia hurried over to take hold of Lexa’s legs, and they settled her into the bed of the wheelbarrow. Clarke’s eyes stung: _she feels so light, like she’s not even there._ It was as though Lexa was fading away even as Clarke fought to keep her here.

“Hey, you gonna be okay?” Octavia’s voice cut through Clarke’s panic, and she looked up to see her friend’s face – concerned for her, but growing more impatient. “We don’t have much time…”

“I know!” Clarke’s voice was sharper than she’d intended and she regretted it a moment later. Octavia ignored it, shaking the blankets out of their neatly folded bundles and piling them onto Lexa haphazardly. Clarke followed suit, and soon they had what looked exactly like a heap of linens that needed washing. She was careful to leave Lexa’s face clear, not wanting to obstruct her breathing (and, if she was being honest with herself, wanting the chance to make sure that she was still there), but there was a fold of cloth she could throw over it in a pinch. Unless someone was looking directly over Clarke’s shoulder, they wouldn’t be able to see Lexa.

“Let’s go,” she said, making for the door, but Octavia shook her head.

“Not looking like that.”

Clarke growled at the other omega’s obstruction, but Octavia just raised her eyebrows. When she looked down at herself, Clarke had to admit that her friend had a point: her pants were dark and could hide the stains, but her entire front was coated in black blood. The sight made her stomach lurch, and she knew that anyone who saw her would recognize it instantly. _And even if Titus hasn’t told them anything, they’ll want to know what happened – and maybe form their own conclusions._ Clarke ripped off her bloodstained shirt and grabbed one of the ones she’d dumped out of her bag, dragging it over her head before turning back to Octavia. “Are we good now?”

Octavia considered her for a moment. “You got anything with a hood? I can pass for _Trikru_ if you don’t look too close, but your hair kind of stands out.”

Clarke reached back into the pile of clothes, cursing under her breath, but then her fingers came into contact with the familiar soft material of her blue sash. Draping it over her head and shoulders the way she remembered Lexa showing her, Clarke tucked her hair under the makeshift hood and then looked back wordlessly at Octavia. The other omega nodded, holding open the door. “That’ll work.”

Sucking in a breath to settle herself, Clarke took hold of the wheelbarrow’s rough wooden handles and pushed it into the darkness of the hall.

***

Clarke had feared that they’d be immediately swarmed by guards or servants demanding to know what had happened to their _Heda_ , but the halls were empty, and eerily silent. The rattling of the wheelbarrow echoed in her ears, and she was sure that everyone in the tower must be able to hear it, but no one came to accost them.

Still, this was on the upper floors. The lower ones contained the kitchens and the washroom, the quarters for visiting dignitaries and the tower’s residents, the _Natblida…_ Clarke felt a lump rise in her throat at the thought of them. They must be so miserable, so confused, so heartbroken. She had seen the love in their faces whenever they’d looked at Lexa. It was clear they saw her as much more than a teacher, much more even than the Commander. They looked to her as something in between an older sister and a sire. And Lexa had loved them back with every piece of her she could give.

Tears stung Clarke’s eyes again. Part of her badly wanted to go to them, to comfort them as best she could and tell them that their _Heda_ wasn’t dead, just sleeping, and Clarke was going to bring her somewhere she could be woken up… But she knew that wouldn’t help. The Nightbloods might have been young, but they weren’t children in the sense that she had once been a child. They had been taught practically from birth to fight, to rule…and to think. They had been trained by Lexa, after all. Even though he wasn’t her son, not truly, she could easily imagine Lexa’s skeptical look on Aden’s face. The thought made her snort even through her tears, but also firmed her resolve. She knew that neither he nor his compatriots were likely to be satisfied with platitudes. They were Lexa’s children, after all.

And so, as they crept down the corridor that held the Nightbloods’ dormitory, Clarke kept her eyes fixed straight ahead on Octavia’s back. She didn’t turn, even when she thought she heard the sounds of whimpering and sniffling from behind the door, even though the noises hurt her heart. She pushed the wheelbarrow containing their _Heda_ onward, and eventually the quiet sounds died away.

True to what she’d expected, as they made their way down and down through the tower, they saw more people – more than Octavia could conceivably help them avoid, the other omega explained, so they were simply going to have to blend in. Clarke kept her head down as they walked, knowing that even if her hair couldn’t be seen, her face was fairly recognizable. All it would take would be running into one of the handmaidens Lexa had assigned to her service, and the jig would be up.

But most people seemed too embroiled in their own unhappiness to notice a warrior and a washerwoman making their way down to the lower floors. The people they passed hurried by with their own heads lowered, many of their faces freshly streaked with tears. Others huddled in tight little groups of whisperers with drawn, anguished expressions. No one bothered to do more than glance at them and nod before looking away again. It was something like a community of suffering, and Clarke felt like a miserable interloper – both because she knew that her suffering was worse, and because she knew what might ease theirs:

_The Commander isn’t dead!_

She had the brief urge to stand in the middle of the hall and scream it at the top of her lungs, if only to destroy the shroud of pain that had descended over the tower’s residents, all of whom loved Lexa in their own way – but she knew she couldn’t help them with this burden, not yet. _When I bring her back to them, healed and whole…_ But she couldn’t finish that thought. It was too rife with uncertainties, too fraught with chance and precarious with circumstance. All she could do was keep moving forward.

After what seemed an immeasurably long journey, they reached the tower’s final residential floor. The rest, Lexa had told her, were used for storage, or were not used at all – they were still too damaged by the cataclysm, although various Commanders had sent work crews down to those levels to renovate them when the residents needed more space. Lexa had been contemplating doing the same, Clarke knew, given that her kitchen staff had been expressing concern about the availability of storage –

_Enough. Focus on the mission. Focus on what you have to do._

Gritting her teeth, Clarke followed Octavia into a smaller, hand-cranked service elevator that would take them to the bottom level. It would be a bit of a trek, but at least they were a lot less likely to be questioned than if they’d used the main one. Even though the guards who operated it might also be too sunk in their grief to question them too closely, she and Octavia had judged it too risky.

They made it to the stable without incident. The bright and cheery warmth of the place was jarring, and the gentle whickering of the horses made her think of the quiet joy Lexa took in their company. It was almost a relief to reach the corner nearest the door and find Indra waiting beside a cart, leaning heavily on a spear, her face twisted with pain and anger.

“So it’s true,” she whispered hoarsely as they approached, her eyes fixed on the wheelbarrow. _“Jok,_ I was almost hoping it was some kind of lie or trick…”

_“Ticha,_ you shouldn’t be here,” Octavia said, hurrying to her mentor’s side and reaching for her elbow. “You’re still too weak…”

Indra shook off her _Seken_ ’s assistance. “There was no one else I could trust. Not with this.”

The beta fixed Clarke with a burning gaze, and she found herself as hard-pressed to meet it as she would with any alpha. But she forced herself to do so, knowing Indra would respect her courage and her commitment more than her submission. “I’m sorry,” Clarke said, meaning it for the pain the general had gone through, and for what she still had to endure.

After a long moment, Indra nodded. “You should be, _Skayon,_ ” she said, iron in her words. “This is your fault.”

For a moment Clarke was seized with an absurd urge to defend herself, but curtailed it. _We don’t have time for this, and in any case…Indra’s right._ “I’m sorry,” she said again, her voice a hoarse rasp.

“Then fix it,” Indra bit off. She held Clarke’s eyes for a little longer before turning to Octavia.

“I will ride with you as far as the gate. No, do not question me, _Seken;_ you may have made it this far but you will not make it past the guards there without me. I can buy you some time.”

Octavia looked like she wanted to continue protesting, but she kept her lips pressed tightly shut and nodded. Together, she and Clarke lifted Lexa in her nest of furs out of the wheelbarrow and into the covered bed of the cart. Clarke climbed in after, and Octavia pulled herself up into the driver’s seat. Her face looked strained as Indra followed, and she winced with each of her mentor’s grunts of pain, but she kept her peace. Once they were settled, Octavia snapped the reins over the horse’s back and they set off.

Just like the halls of the tower, the streets of Polis were mostly empty – although that made more sense, given that it was the middle of the night. Perhaps the news hadn’t filtered out just yet, Clarke thought, the tower still wrapped in a self-contained shroud of grief. But as she looked out through the gap between the cover and the sides of the cart, she couldn’t help imagining that the city itself was holding its breath, keeping vigil for its fallen leader, waiting to learn whether dawn would bring mourning or jubilation.

Gritting her teeth, Clarke looked back at her mate’s still form. In the dimness of the cart, Lexa could merely be sleeping, waiting for dawn to come before she’d wake and greet Clarke with one of her rare, brilliant smiles. That was the only sunrise Clarke longed for, the only one that would make her truly feel as though the world was bright again.

The gates of the city loomed down at them from the darkness, the blaze of torches flaring up suddenly and making Clarke squint. A moment later she heard Octavia hiss, “Put your head down!” Without hesitation, Clarke buried herself in the furs beside Lexa, flinging her hood over her head. She didn’t even look up lest the light of the light of the guards’ torches reflect in her eyes and alert them to her presence. The darkness was stifling, and she felt sweat break out on her forehead, but she didn’t dare to wipe it away. She stayed as low and immobile as she could, attempting to blend into the bed of furs. As much as she hated being so useless, everything was in Octavia and Indra’s hands now.

“Follow my lead,” Indra muttered as the clatter of the horse’s hooves slowed. “Do not speak. Your accent is still terrible.”

Clarke heard Octavia growl under her breath, but the other omega cut it short as they came to a halt at the order of the guards.

Clarke didn’t dare to breathe.

“Where are you headed so late?” she heard a man say, his voice politely suspicious.

_They can’t have heard yet,_ Clarke realized, _or he wouldn’t be talking to Octavia like that._ A thin flame of hope bloomed in her heart, and she clenched her fists in the furs. _We might just make it out of here._

“Stand down, Nitan,” Indra said, her tone easy and familiar. “This one just received word that her _komfoni_ is ill and wanted to leave as soon as she could. She was kind enough to provide me with a ride down to the gate, and an opportunity to try and persuade her to wait until morning, but she wouldn’t listen.”

The tension pouring from Octavia stung in Clarke’s nose, and she wanted to hiss at her friend to cool it or she’d blow their cover – but the guard just laughed. “Don’t I know it. Well, we should all hope to be so lucky as to have a grandchild so devoted when we’re old. If your horse steps on a stone and goes lame, though, you’ll have a much longer journey than you’d planned. Sometimes it’s faster to have a little bit of patience than to always be rushing off, and find yourself stuck.”

Indra snorted. “Don’t bother. That’s what I told her. This one’s stubborn as a pig.” Clarke could hear a little bit of strain creeping into the general’s voice, and she slowly began to reach for the knife strapped to her leg.

“All right, well, if Indra can’t change your mind, I guess you’re just a lost cause. Have a safe journey, then.”

Clarke risked a glance upward and saw Octavia nod, her eyes downcast and her face grim, before hopping down to help Indra off the cart. The beta growled at her, but didn’t refuse. It was a sweaty eternity before she saw Octavia climb back into her seat, and then the gates of Polis were groaning open. Octavia clicked her tongue, and the horse picked up a swift walk.

When the cobbles gave way to a packed dirt road, and Octavia snapped the reins, coaxing the horse into a trot. Only then did Clarke raise her head, watching as the lights of the city slowly faded away behind them.

***

Although Octavia kept the horse moving at a steady clip, the speed at which the farmland around Polis gave way to thin forest felt too slow for Clarke. She bit her tongue over half a dozen requests to go faster – they had a long way to go yet, and right now they were making pretty good time. But it didn’t feel that way. With nothing to do but check Lexa’s pulse and breathing, make sure she hadn’t bled through her bandages, and reorganize her supplies for the hundredth time, Clarke was slowly going mad.

In times like this, she always tried to keep busy even if she wasn’t at the forefront of the action, knowing that if she gave herself enough time to think, all of the doubts and fears she had managed to push back would well up again. Now was no different. Somehow, in less than twelve hours, everything had gone to hell. She had gone from aching with love to miserable at parting with Lexa but optimistic, even hopeful, that they would be able to fix this and to come back to each other, to…this. Sitting in the back of a cart beside her mate’s unconscious body, praying that each breath she took would be followed by another. Knowing that while they were alone for now on the pre-dawn roads, Polis would soon be up in arms, with half its citizenry grieving for their _Heda_ while the other half condemned Clarke for a murderer – and a thief.

_Well, they’re not wrong._

The errant thought made Clarke bite her lip enough to draw blood, but it still wasn’t enough to hold back all of her tears. A couple of them fell onto Lexa’s face and she brushed them away, wishing her mate’s skin wasn’t so cold. _I didn’t draw the gun,_ she tried to tell herself. _It wasn’t my finger on the trigger. I didn’t shoot her._

No, but you were the target.

_Fuck._ That was it, wasn’t it? Because of what _Skaikru_ had done, Titus had tried to kill her and frame Octavia, ending what he hoped would be Lexa’s brief deviation from a policy that had kept her people alive for countless years: _jus drein, jus daun._ A policy that she had only considered deviating from because Clarke had begged her to show mercy, to allow her people to bring their own to justice instead of dealing in retribution. If it weren’t for her, and for their pups, for the family they might one day be, Lexa wouldn’t have enacted _jus drein nou jus daun._ She wouldn’t have tried to change the world, and scared the guardian of its status quo enough to try to murder her.

But even as Clarke burned with guilt, more tears tracing bitter trails down her cheeks, she found that the argument didn’t quite hold water. _The Commander is a visionary,_ Kane had said, after only knowing Lexa for a few days. Clarke herself had seen it in her eyes the moment they’d met: Lexa was different. She was willing to listen, to consider the words of even her enemies, to adjust her thinking to the situation at hand, even while never losing sight of her goal: to do what was right for her people. As Clarke had gotten to know her and love her, she’d watched Lexa come to the realization that their long-term goal was the same: for their people to live in peace.

Because that was the key to Lexa, Clarke realized: she was a peacemaker, and had been long before they’d met. While Clarke was doodling in her notebooks during her classes on the Ark, Lexa had forged the Coalition out of twelve separate fires, with her courage and cunning and strength of will. She had been able to look beyond the murderous web of alliances and betrayals and revenge to see all of the Clans as her people, even _Azgeda_ – and eventually _Skaikru._ With her own blood and sacrifice she had ended a war that had ravaged her people for generations, and would give anything and everything she had to keep it from starting again.

_Except me._

Lexa had already been committed to keeping the peace among her people, to gradually healing the wounds of constant war and planting seeds in the furrows left by scars. If Lexa were to continue along her path of gradual peace, she would have called upon the armies of all Twelve Clans to destroy the rogue Thirteenth Clan, and to avenge the _Trikru_ dead. The siege of Arkadia would have been what the assault on Mount Weather was meant to be: a strike against a common enemy that would forge lasting bonds of blood and sacrifice, and unite them under Lexa’s rule for years to come. _Skaikru_ would have been nothing more than a blip in history, one that Lexa could have used to advance her cause, slowly turning her people’s minds from revenge and bloodshed to harmony and growth. Gradually, _Leksa kom Trikru_ would have changed the world.

Because of Clarke, she’d had to do it all at once.

Because of Clarke and her people and their magic blood, Cage Wallace had offered Lexa his deal, which of course she’d had to take – the choice between reuniting hundreds of broken families and breaking her own heart was no choice at all. But the decision had meant that the grand battle that was to have unified all the Clans in sacrifice had never come, leaving behind a sense of unrest, like a sky that threatened thunder but never rained. Clarke’s victory over what should have been certain death had meant that in order to keep her Coalition alive, Lexa would have to kill her – but instead, she’d proven for all her people to see that symbolically and quite literally, even death bowed to their Commander.

Ever since they’d met – no, Clarke thought, even before – Lexa had been creating choices where none were meant to exist. Instead of destroying the invaders with whom her people were at war, Lexa had listened to Clarke’s side of things and had chosen to ally with them. Instead of killing Clarke and taking her power to cement the Coalition, she had offered her people proof of her strength in a different way. While the circumstances between them had changed between each of those choices, each time Lexa had refused the wisdom that she had to make a choice between Clarke and her people – which was no choice at all, for one so committed to her duty as _Heda_. Instead, she had chosen to forge another path, proving that her love for her people and her love for Clarke could coexist.

In the face of Pike’s atrocity, Lexa had chosen to build a new world around them, one where she and Clarke could be together, could raise their children together, could be the leaders that their people needed but also merely two girls in love. But now that world was collapsing around her, and threatening to take the old one with it. The portrait of chaos that Titus had painted was vivid in Clarke’s mind. She saw through a curtain of tears the dissolution of the Coalition. The Clans would to their traditional alliances and enmities, and _Azgeda_ would war. The fields of slowly growing crops, the orchards heavy with ripening fruit, the marketplaces where all of these would be sold and traded, would be scorched black, and trampled under the feet of soldiers. _Skaikru,_ enemy to all and ally of none, would be obliterated.

_I won’t let that happen,_ she decided, watching through the back of the cart as they passed through the fields and into the deeper forest that surrounded the city. During her time in Polis, she had fallen in love with Lexa, but also with her city, its bustling markets and tidy shops and panoply of people, who gossiped and squabbled and loved peacefully. Polis was what this world could be, if it was given love and patience and time to heal – just as Lexa had given to Clarke. That was the world she wanted to live in, wanted her children to grow up in. That was Lexa’s world.

But right now, Clarke thought, they were heading back into the old world, back to where the struggle for survival was the only constant. It was going to be dangerous, but it needed to be done, so that its weeds did not strangle the new growth.

_You held up the world around me – around all of us – for so long,_ she thought, looking down at Lexa’s slumbering face. _Now it’s my turn to take up the burden._ She burned with the conviction that this was right, this was the future, because unlike Lexa, she didn’t see any other options. All she could do was try to chart a course through the darkness, and keep the fragile flame she carried with her from going out.

***

The forest deepened around them, the villages becoming smaller and more scattered, as they passed into the heart of _Trikru_ territory. The day dawned grey and misty and only grew more so, thickening gradually into a drizzle and then an outright rain. Clarke was grateful for it, knowing that they were likely to face less scrutiny from anyone they might pass. Still, she worried about Lexa. Even in her nest of furs, the alpha seemed far too cold. She shivered and stirred fretfully now and again, as though in the grip of feverish dreams, but she never opened her eyes.

She knew that Titus must have realized they were gone by now. She could easily imagine him furious, storming around the tower and yelling at everyone, sending out search parties to track down his stolen Flame…whatever that was. Something to do with who became _Heda,_ she thought – but she couldn’t imagine what it could be. Lexa had mentioned the Spirit of the Commander being passed to her successor, mentioned it like it wasn’t a metaphysical concept but something literal, a process that had to be done. Whatever it was, they had both been adamant that it was of the utmost importance – more important, even, than keeping Lexa alive.

Clarke shook her head. There was no sense getting bogged down in this stuff. _When you wake up,_ she thought, gazing down at Lexa, _you can tell me what the hell he was talking about._

The cart rattled over a pothole, and Lexa groaned weakly. Clarke hurried to soothe her mate, murmuring nonsense as she smoothed Lexa’s hair back from her forehead. Even though the day was chilly, Lexa’s skin was warm to the touch. Too warm? Clarke chewed her lip, torn between asking Octavia to go faster and asking her to slow down so they didn’t run into bumps like that. It was possible that her own hands were cold, making Lexa feel warmer than she was – but she could also be running a fever.

_Which would mean she’s running out of time._

“Hey, O…?” Clarke said nervously, sticking her head out of the cover. Rain immediately began to patter gently across her face, which probably explained the grumpy look Octavia turned on her.

“If this is ‘are we there yet', Clarke, I swear I will turn this cart around…”

Clarke offered a weak smile at her friend's attempt at humor, but that was all she could manage. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but Lexa's not doing so well, and…”

Octavia's face turned serious. “I don’t know if we're in radio range yet, but we can't be too far off. Let me check.”

She pulled a radio from her belt and pressed out a complicated rhythm on its call button. They both strained their ears, even though Clarke wasn’t entirely sure what she was listening for, but anything was better than silence. She was aware of Octavia glancing at her a couple of times, but she kept her eyes on the radio, willing it to speak, to spit static, anything…

“We're not in range yet, but we will be soon,” Octavia said, with what Clarke suspected was all the gentleness her friend could offer. “How are you doing?”

“I…” Clarke was about to say _I'm fine,_ but it would have been a lie, one Octavia would have seen through. The sympathy in her friend's face made Clarke want to be honest. But when she tried to sort through the tangled knot at the center of her chest for something that could be put into words, she was quickly overwhelmed by just how much there was. She had to pull away, to hide it behind the iron-hard barriers she’d learned to erect since her father's death, or else she’d be swamped.

Clarke shook her head. “I don’t really know how to answer that.” She forced herself to look away from the radio and into Octavia's eyes, but she couldn’t hold them for long. The understanding in them made her throat tighten. “I can’t think about that right now,” she rasped. “I have to focus on keeping her alive until we can get to my mom.”

The other omega nodded. “It shouldn’t be long. I’m starting to recognize these woods. We'll have to be careful, but we're getting close.”

Clarke gave her a brief smile. “Thanks, Octavia. For everything.”

Her friend turned back to the road ahead, giving the reins a brisk snap and urging the horse into a trot. “Thank me when you’ve saved our people. Again. No pressure, though.”

Clarke had to snort quietly at that despite herself. The fact that Octavia could find the gallows humor in their situation made her feel like somehow it couldn’t be _that_ bad. She knew better, of course – it really was that bad, and failure wasn’t an option – but she was glad for the momentary refuge of thinking things might just turn out all right.

***

They continued until dusk, stopping only briefly to water the horse and refill their bottles at a stream that ran by the road. After shaking it up briskly with a few decontamination tablets, Clarke attempted to pour some of the water between Lexa’s lips. She wasn’t sure how much of it went down the alpha's throat as opposed to running over her mouth and down her cheek, but she had to try. Her mate's skin had only gotten warmer, even as she stripped the blankets off Lexa, exposing sweat-soaked skin to the chilly air. The alpha murmured and stirred fitfully, making Clarke gasp, but she didn’t wake.

Octavia began testing the radio every hour, and Clarke found herself not daring to move or blink or even breathe, as though that might somehow endanger the device's ability to pick up the frequency. But no matter how still she held herself, nothing came from the radio but the hiss of static. “Nothing we can do but head for the rendezvous point and keep trying it,” Octavia said, but while Clarke was touched that her friend was attempting to put on a brave face, she could smell the worry in Octavia's scent.

As the last of the days’ meager light faded, Octavia turned the horse off the main road and onto a small, narrow track. It was pocked with holes and ruts from wagon wheels that jolted Clarke mercilessly. She could hear Octavia cursing fluently in _Trigedasleng_ with each one they hit, but she had eyes only for Lexa. Every now and again the alpha stirred or groaned or muttered unintelligibly, but her eyes didn’t open – a blessing and a curse, Clarke thought. As much as she wanted to see her mate awake and conscious once more, she wasn’t sure she could stand to see her brilliant green gaze clouded with pain or dulled by delirium.

_“Fuck!”_

Octavia's hissed curse was Clarke's only warning before the cart came to a sudden, bumpy halt. The horse neighed, shaking its head as Octavia clicked her tongue and snapped the reins, but they were stuck. Muttering furiously, the younger girl climbed down stiffly from her seat and moved around to assess the obstruction.

“Dammit. Clarke, we're stuck.”

With a lingering glance at Lexa, Clarke clambered awkwardly out of the cart bed, abruptly becoming aware of the stiffness in her own limbs. Groaning a little, she tottered over to where Octavia stood glaring at the deep furrow in which the cart rested. Its front wheels were embedded in mud, and Clarke was about to suggest that with their help the horse might be able to pull it free, but then she saw the crack running through one of the wheels.

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” Octavia said, looking grim. “We might be able to fix it if we had tools, or time…”

“But we don’t,” Clarke said.

“Looks like we're on foot from here. But it can’t be far, I’m pretty sure Lincoln took me hunting around here.” At Clarke’s sympathetic glance, she made a gesture that looked like a cross between a shrug and a wince. “Happier times.”

Clarke reached out to brush her friend’s arm briefly, but her mind was already humming. No matter how near they were, it was going to be hard for the two of them to carry Lexa the rest of the way to Arkadia on foot. As she looked back at the cart, she was struck with the beginnings of an idea. “See if you can get my mom on the radio,” she told Octavia, making her way back over to the broken vehicle.

As she moved about the cart, checking its construction and considering her options, she heard Octavia press the call button again. This time, however, there was a response: an echoing pattern. “Oh, shit, Clarke!” Octavia said, eyes wide, but Clarke was already hurrying over. After a long, tense moment, her mother’s voice crackled out of the radio.

“Octavia, I don’t have much time. Did you find Clarke? Is she with you?”

“Yeah,” Octavia said, but her fierce grin fell away as quickly as it came. “But there’s a serious problem and we need you to meet us at the Den, and bring as many medical supplies as you can. Bandages and antiseptic and stuff like that.”

“What happened? Is Clarke all right?” Abby said, the tension in her voice rising to a panicked pitch.

“I’m fine, Mom,” Clarke said, and a moment later her mother's sigh of relief crackled across the frequency. “It’s not for me, it’s…” She shared a glance with Octavia, but couldn’t read the other omega's dark look. “I just need you to trust me, okay? Bring what you can to treat a gunshot wound. We'll meet you there soon.”

She bit her lip, praying that her mom would listen. At last, she heard Abby sigh again. “All right. But I don’t think I’ll be able to get away until after dark. Can it wait that long?”

Clarke looked over at the wagon, where she knew her mate lay sleeping fitfully, tormented by whatever phantoms her feverish mind had conjured up. She suddenly felt the weight of the past eighteen hours settle over her like a lead-lined cloak, and for a moment it was heavier than she could bear.

_But I hear it so they don’t have to. Because I’m the only one who can._

Turning back to the radio, she said, “It’ll have to. Just come as soon as you can.”

“All right. I’ll see you soon. Both of you, be safe.”

“We will,” Clarke promised, even though she knew there was no way she could do so without lying. But it was what her mother needed to hear.

Octavia clipped the radio back onto her belt. “Well, I guess we’d better get moving if we're going to make it there on time. I hope you’ve got a plan for how we're gonna get your girlfriend all the way there through a few miles of forest.”

“I do, but I’m gonna need your sword.”

It was a measure of Octavia’s friendship that she didn’t protest for particularly long when Clarke explained her plan, and merely looked away with a set face as Clarke used her blade to hack the bottom out of the cart. She handed the dulled sword back to Octavia with an apologetic look, then pulled Lexa's knife out of its sheath on her thigh and set to work cutting through the harness. They let the horse go free, figuring it had a better chance of survival on its own. “Best case scenario, some family around here is gonna be plowing their fields with one of the royal warhorses,” Octavia said, grinning a bit at the thought.

Clarke was already immersed in her task, divvying up the traces into straps that she used to lash Lexa to the makeshift sled and using the rest to create a kind of harness for herself. She gave it a testing tug, making sure that Lexa was secure in the furs that Clarke hoped would insulate her from the worst of the bumps and jolts to come. The alpha's head lolled to the side, but other than that she didn’t move. Clarke could feel her limbs beginning to tremble with exhaustion and worry, but she forced them both back, turning to Octavia.

The other omega's eyes were wide. “Well, shit, Princess. Color me impressed.”

“Let’s go,” Clarke said, looping her arms through the harness's straps. “You can tell me what the Den is on the way.”

***

The Den, it turned out, was a small dugout in a copse of trees in the middle of the field that lay between Arkadia and the forest. Lincoln had begun constructing it with Octavia’s help a little under a month since Clarke had left. “He didn’t really say why he started exactly, just that he felt like a storm was coming,” the other omega told her as they walked. “He didn’t know when or how, but he wanted to make sure we had someplace to ride it out. I’ve been using it to hide if I need to get out of Arkadia - Pike's got the place pretty locked down.”

All Clarke could manage was a nod. They’d been traveling steadily for the last two hours, bumping along the track as it grew narrower and rougher, and the light faded further. She was exhausted, and her hands and shoulders burned where the harness rubbed against them, but she refused to let herself stop. They were so, so close, and –

“There!”

Octavia was pointing to a thin gap in the treeline, through which Clarke thought she could just about make out the hulking curve of the Ark glinting in the light of torches. Despite her exhaustion, her spirits rose just a bit at the sight. “Let's go,” she said, preparing to charge through the underbrush, but Octavia stopped her.

“Wait. Let me see where we're gonna come out of the woods. We want to spend as little time as possible in the open.”

Impatient as she was, Clarke couldn’t argue with that. Octavia plunged into the brush, and Clarke took the opportunity to disentangle herself from the harness and check on Lexa. It was hard to tell in the dark, but she thought her mate's pallor was more pronounced. When she brushed her hand across the alpha's forehead, she found it damp and hot. “You need to hang on,” she murmured to Lexa, her words shaking with exhausted conviction. “Just a little longer, okay? We're almost there. My mom's on her way, and she’s gonna fix you.” Lexa gave no sign that she could hear or understand, but on the off chance that she could, Clarke hoped it might give her mate the strength to keep on fighting too.

Octavia returned after a breathless five minutes, sporting a fierce but tired grin. “Finally got lucky. We’re only a few dozen yards off. I’ll cut us a path and then we'll make a break for it.” Clarke nodded, already sliding her arms back into the harness. Her muscles protested vehemently at the thought of going even another step, but there was no way in hell she was giving up now.

“Final push,” she said. “Lead the way.”

With Octavia using her sword to hack away most of the underbrush, they made it about a quarter turn around the meadow, coming into view of the copse of trees. Most of them were sparse and scraggly, surrounded by tufts of overgrown grass, but they hid the Den's entrance well: Clarke didn’t realize she was looking at it until Octavia bent down and pulled the artfully placed foliage aside.

After a quick check to make sure they weren’t being watched, Clarke tugged off the harness and took hold of one end of the makeshift sled, Octavia took the other, and then together they burst into the open field. After the oppressive closeness of the trees, Clarke felt almost agoraphobic, but she couldn’t help turning her eyes to the sky. The stars and moon were veiled by a thick blanket of cloud, and while she knew she should be grateful for the extra darkness, it seemed somewhat ominous to her feverishly tired brain.

Before she knew it, Octavia was disappearing into the wide, low mouth of the dugout, tugging Lexa after her. Clarke followed, boots skidding on the packed-earth floor. She bumped her head trying to stand to her full height and sat down with a thump. Octavia favored her with a tired grin.

“It's not much, but it's home. For the next few hours, anyway.”

“Hopefully it won’t be that long,” Clarke said, leaning over to check on Lexa. After being satisfied that her mate’s vitals weren’t great, but they were holding steady, she allowed herself to collapse against the dugout’s earthen wall.

She had only shut her eyes for a moment when she felt Octavia's hand on her shoulder. Clarke jolted awake, terror flooding her veins, certain she had missed something important, but Octavia hurried to soothe her. “Shh, it's okay,” she said, rubbing Clarke's shoulders as she tried to get her breathing under control. “Listen, your mom's on her way.”

Burning hope rose in Clarke's throat, but she choked it back. She couldn’t afford it right now. She knew that if it was dashed, she herself would shatter. Mechanically she nodded, and mechanically she turned to Lexa, pressing two fingers against her throat. It took her long enough to find the weak thread of a pulse that she started to shiver herself, almost as badly as the alpha.

“Come on,” she found herself whispering, unable to care that Octavia might hear her, or see the tears gathering in her eyes. “We’re almost there. You can’t give up on me now.” The idea that they could have made it this far, through so much, only for Lexa to leave her here, was incomprehensible. And yet Clarke was forced to face it as she watched Lexa's chest rise and fall with slow, labored breaths, as she used the last of her water to clean the sweat off her mate's brow. “Please,” she found herself pleading, her voice choked with the tears that were now sliding freely down her cheeks and spilling onto Lexa's burning skin. “Please…”

_Please wake up. Please come back to me. Please don’t go where I can’t follow…_

A low rumbling noise began, one that Clarke didn’t register at first because of how wrapped up she was in Lexa, but it grew until she could no longer ignore it. It could have been the beginnings of an earthquake, but it somehow seemed familiar, like she’d heard it before. She frowned, searching her exhausted brain, but then the flat blare of hundreds of warhorns jolted her into remembering. She’d last heard this sound – the thunder of thousands of feet marching to the beat of hundreds of drums – on her first journey to Polis, with Roan.

Clarke's heart was fluttering in her chest as she carefully peered out of the mouth of the dugout that faced the forest. At first she saw only the darkness of the weaving trees, but then the horns sounded again. Torches were lit, a ring of fire blossoming around Arkadia as far as the eye could see. The flames gleamed off the armor and weaponry of hundreds of soldiers lining the edge of the woods, and Clarke knew that there were likely thousands more behind them, waiting for their Commander to lead them.

Lexa's army had arrived.


	25. who is the lamb and who is the knife?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it: the moment I've been most looking forward to writing since I first started working on this fic! Let me know what you guys think. We're heading into the home stretch now!

The warhorns winded over and over, like the belling of a hunting pack that'd brought its prey to bay. Even though she knew there was no way the army could see them in the Den, Clarke shivered uncontrollably, unable to shake the sensation that it was she who was being hunted, that it was her blood being called for. Unable to watch any longer as the soldiers arrived, lighting their torches and shouting their war cries, Clarke slithered back into the bottom of the dugout. She exchanged a single haunted glance with Octavia, and then pulled Lexa's head into her lap. Breathing hard, Clarke wound her fingers into her mate's braids, feeling like she was clinging to Lexa for dear life, like the alpha was the only thing keeping her from flying to pieces. It was probably true.

The radio crackled, making them both jump.  _ “—you see them?”  _ came her mother's voice. Clarke reached for the radio, but Octavia got there first.

“Yeah, we see them.”

_ “And do you still need me to come out there?”  _ Abby asked, her voice taut.

Octavia glanced at Lexa, and then at Clarke, before replying, “Yeah, we…it’s urgent. There isn’t much time.”

Abby's sigh came through on a hiss of static, making Clarke's heart hurt. She wanted to tell her mother no, stay there where it's safe, we'll figure something out, but she didn’t need to look down at Lexa to know that they didn’t have time to figure anything out. Her face was sallow and pale, her breathing labored, her heartbeat sluggish, and her skin feverishly hot. If Lexa didn’t get medical attention within the next few hours, she’d be dead by sunrise.

Even though she’d known it since arriving in the Den, Clarke realized at that moment that she’d been holding the thought back from herself:  _ Lexa could be dead by morning.  _ Misery swelled in Clarke's chest and she couldn’t quite choke back a sob.

Apparently Abby heard it, because she hastened to say, “Clarke, honey, it's going to be okay. I’m coming to you as fast as I can. I’ll be there soon, okay? Just hang in there.”

“Be safe, Mom,” Clarke forced out, before reaching up to savagely swipe at the tears blurring her eyes.

The radio went silent, and then there was nothing to do but wait, and avoid each other's eyes. Clarke was too tired to fight off the visions her mind conjured of exactly how everything could go wrong, and found that her exhaustion strengthened them: her mother being caught by Pike while trying to slip out, being tortured and interrogated; or being spotted by a warrior and picked off with an arrow as she tried to get to Clarke; and meanwhile, Clarke wouldn't have any choice but to watch as her mate, her love, her Lexa slowly slipped away.

Clarke's strength was already at its limit, but the thought of sitting helplessly by as Lexa succumbed to her wound broke her. Tears poured down her cheeks and racking sobs assailed her like great sheets of wind, forcing her to bend over Lexa's entirely too still form. She was vaguely aware of Octavia's tentative hand reaching out to touch her shoulder, her voice making lame attempts at comfort, but Clarke was in the eye of her own hurricane and almost insensate to anything but the gale of despair within her soul. She couldn’t imagine how her heart was supposed to go on beating if Lexa's stopped. To be left in this world without the girl who had become her world seemed too cruel a fate to be real.

“Clarke? Clarke!”

It was her mother's voice, her mother's arms pulling her close, but all Clarke could think was that she was being pulled away from Lexa. She snarled savagely, fighting Abby's hold with all her strength. When it persisted, she leaned forward and sank her teeth into her mother’s hand.

_ “Clarke!” _

Shock and hurt were plain on Abby's face, but all Clarke could think about was getting back to her mate. As soon as she made contact with Lexa's burning skin, however, Clarke's reason returned. “Mom, I…I’m so sorry… I don’t know what came over me…”

Abby looked up from examining her hand to give Clarke a wan smile. “You didn’t break the skin, so it should be fine. Now, what was so urgent that I had to cross a battlefield to—” Her words cut off abruptly when she caught sight of Lexa. “Oh god. That's…” Her eyes met Clarke’s, and the sympathy and sadness burning through the fear and exhaustion would have made Clarke start crying again, if all her tears hadn’t already been spent. “What happened?” Abby asked hoarsely.

Clarke opened her mouth to respond, but all that came out was a harsh, dry sob. And what was there to say, truly? How could she ever hope to explain how the love of her life had been shot by the closest thing to a father she had, because of Clarke? How could she tell her mom what Lexa meant to her, or what Lexa's death would mean for her people—and for Clarke's? How could she explain that her own world was crashing down around her, and soon the rest of the world would follow? 

Octavia seemed to glean some of what she was feeling, because she clasped Clarke's shoulder hard in sympathy before telling Abby, “She was shot, yesterday evening. Clarke was able to slow the bleeding, but she's feverish and only getting worse.”

Abby cursed under her breath, already peeling the sweat-soaked furs from Lexa's body, exposing the dark-stained bandages in which Clarke had wrapped her. Her mother sucked in a breath, eyes suddenly wide. “What the—is her blood  _ black?” _

“It’s normal,” Octavia hastened to explain. “Well, for her anyway. She's something called a Nightblood, and I’m not sure exactly what that means, but it's something to do with being the Commander.”

Abby took a couple of seconds to process that before reaching for the kit she'd brought and pulling out a pair of scissors. “These should get changed,” she said briskly, indicating the bandages. “Help me hold her steady.”

As Abby worked to clean the wound and change Lexa's dressing, Octavia recounted everything that had led them here. Her mother’s hands were steady and sure, and Clarke felt the stirrings of hope in her chest, but then her mother finished tying off the bandages and sat back on her heels.

“What I don’t understand is why the Grounders wouldn’t try to heal her themselves,” Abby said, frowning at the wound. “She’s their leader, their Commander. Hell, I’ve heard some of them talk like she’s practically their god. I get that they don’t have the same kinds of medicine as we do, but you made it sound like they weren’t even willing to make an effort. What kind of way is that to treat your leader?”

Octavia shrugged helplessly. “I wasn’t sure what was happening, honestly. I was just trying to keep an eye on Titus and make sure he didn’t try to kill us again.”

“She’s more than that.” Abby and Octavia both looked at her, and Clarke was somewhat surprised to realize that the hoarse words had come out of her own raw throat. “They see her as a vessel for something, something that guides them. I’m not sure what it is, but Titus called it the Flame. Whoever has it is supposed to rule.” She wrenched her eyes away from Lexa to take in her mother's confused face. “Lexa told me that they believe in something like reincarnation, each Commander passing the same spirit along when they die. And because the Coalition is so fragile right now, Titus said they couldn’t wait for Lexa to get better. He wanted to let her die, so they could choose the next Commander. And so did Lexa.” Clarke sucked in a breath, her chest suddenly tight. “But I couldn’t let that happen.”

“So you brought her here,” Abby said, fear and wonder cutting through her voice.

Clarke nodded dully. “I had to, Mom. I couldn’t just let her… Not when I knew you could fix her.”

Abby said nothing, but she didn’t have to. Her clenched jaw, her pallor, and the sharp scent of fear and sadness that filled the dugout told Clarke everything. “No,” she whispered, her voice cracking as the last thin flame of hope that she’d clung to since the gunshot guttered and went out. “No, no, no, no…”

“Clarke, I’m so sorry,” Abby said, tears beginning to leak from her eyes and trickle down her cheeks. “I really am, but there's not much I can do in here for her. She needs fluids, antibiotics, maybe surgery, but I can’t even run an IV in here. All we can do is—is make her comfortable. She won’t feel any pain…”

Clarke let out a wrenching sob, shaking her head. The idea that despite everything they'd been through to return to each other, the battles they’d faced and the hardships they'd overcome, they were still going to be parted—and this time for good… It was too much to bear. “I can't,” she found herself sobbing. “I can't do this. I can’t do this without her…”

Abby reached out and pulled Clarke's head to her chest, holding her tightly and stroking her braids as she murmured “I’m sorry, I'm sorry baby, I'm so sorry...” But Clarke found no comfort in her mother's embrace. There was no comfort for her any longer in this world—nowhere she could turn and feel safe, at peace, at home. Lexa had been her home, she realized then. With her gone, Clarke would be cast out into the wilderness once more, doomed to wander aimlessly without respite.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, grief and despair pouring from her in endless waves, fingers flexing mechanically in Lexa's hair. She was vaguely aware of Octavia and her mother speaking to each other, moving around her, but she couldn’t focus on anything besides her own pain and sorrow, and Lexa's still, dear face. Even in sleep, even in death—or close to it—it was the most beautiful thing she could imagine, because it carried all of Clarke's memories of Lexa awake, alive, her eyes lighting up with love, darkening with lust, narrowing as she faced down insurmountable challenges, softening as she looked up at Clarke from hearing their pups' heartbeats for the first time… The thought wrenched another sob from Clarke. Their children would grow up in a world where their mother grieved without end for a sire they would never know.

“Clarke…”

The word was so faint and hoarse that for a moment Clarke thought she might have imagined it. But she hadn't imagined the startled looks on Octavia's and Abby's exhausted, tear-streaked faces, and that made her push away from her mother and peer down at Lexa.

“Lexa?” she said, her own voice cracking with ragged hope. The alpha's eyes didn’t open, but her lips moved once more, in a hoarse, inaudible rasp. “Water,” Clarke ordered, taking in her mate's flushed skin and dry lips. Octavia opened her mouth as though to argue, but the look in Clarke's eye made her shut it again and pass over her canteen.

Clarke poured the water in a thin stream between Lexa's lips, feeling an inordinate amount of delight when she saw how little of it trickled back out again. She had seen Lexa perform so many daring, impossible feats, and knew firsthand the strength of her slender body, but she had never been as awed and overjoyed as she was to see her mate's throat move as she  swallowed. “Lexa,” she whispered again, pressing her palm to the alpha’s warm cheek.

“Clarke, you…need to find…go to…the Spirit…tell Titus…”

“Shh,” Clarke murmured, attempting to imbue her voice with all of the comfort she didn’t feel. “It’s okay, Lexa. You’re gonna be okay.”

“Don’t…we don't have much time…” Lexa's chest hitched with the effort of drawing breath, and if Clarke could have done it for her, she gladly would. “Can't…can’t let the Flame die…”

“Nobody's dying,” Clarke told her, but Lexa either wouldn’t or couldn’t listen.

“Clarke, listen,” she said, a little louder. Her eyelashes fluttered open, and Clarke's breath was abruptly stolen by the sight of Lexa's brilliant green eyes. They were bright with fever and clouded by pain, but they were the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. “You need to…need to get Titus. There's still time to pass the Flame… Next Commander will protect you. They promised me, swore to…”

“I don’t want the next Commander, I want  _ you,”  _ Clarke said, her voice cracking once more. But Lexa's moment of lucidity was already fading; her eyes roved restlessly across Clarke's face, the roof of the dugout, losing focus even as she struggled to maintain it.

“Clarke, please…for our people, for…for our pups. For me. Promise me you’ll…please…” Her strength was failing, her eyes fluttering shut, and Clarke felt like shaking her, begging her not to give up—they’d already made it this far—but she was terrified she might miss any of her mate's scant, precious words. “Clarke…I’m sorry…”

Lexa's eyes fell shut, her body going limp against Clarke's once more. Clarke's fingers shot out reflexively to check her pulse, and found it there, but growing fainter. A heavy silence reigned within the dugout, only barely punctured by the thunder of drums.

Abby was the first one to break it. “Clarke, I'm sorry, but…it'll be dawn soon. If we move now, we might be able to slip back into Arkadia without the Grounders seeing us…”

“And then do what, exactly?” Octavia said. “They know we stole the Commander. Once they realize we don’t have her anymore, nothing will stop them from attacking.”

“We'll be safe inside the walls for at least a little while, until we can figure out what to do…”

“What are we supposed to do, just leave her here? That’s fucked up, and I seriously doubt Clarke will let us—”

“—no other way we'll be able to sneak in. If we can get inside undetected, we might be able to evacuate at least some of us without raising the alarm...”

“No.”

At the sound of Clarke's voice, Octavia and Abby broke off their argument to stare at her. The firmness and calm of her tone was a surprise even to her, but it came from a sudden conviction: she was not going to let Lexa's last thought be one of regret. A plan was forming in her mind, one that would take every ounce of courage and daring she had in her, and maybe even more—but Lexa's life was on the line. For Lexa, she could do anything.

“Clarke, what…what do you mean?” Octavia said, frowning at her.

“I’m not letting her die,” Clarke said, feeling the words infuse her with desperate strength. “We’re taking her to the medbay for treatment.”

Octavia and Abby both stared at her like she'd grown another head. “Clarke, that’s not going to be possible,” her mother said, slowly, as though amazed that she was having to explain this to her. “Even if we could somehow get her inside without the Grounders noticing us, there's no way Pike will allow it. She's the leader of the enemy. He'll kill her on sight.”

“And then the Grounders will kill all of us,” Octavia said darkly. “If they don’t see us and shoot us before we can even get in.”

Octavia’s words crystallized everything for Clarke. Conviction flooded her limbs with energy, so much that she found herself shivering with it. “We want them to see us,” Clarke said, looking up at Abby and Octavia.  _ “All  _ of us.”

Her mother frowned. “Clarke, honey, you’re not making sense. If the Grounders see us, they’ll shoot—”

Clarke shook her head. “Not if they see us  _ with Lexa.  _ Maybe Titus thinks we should let her die, but the rest of her people don’t see it that way. She’s their Commander. They won’t risk hitting her with an arrow if they know we have her.”

“Even if that  _ completely fucking insane  _ idea happens to work, Pike's still there,” Octavia pointed out. “No way he'll allow Abby to save her.”

“We won’t give him a choice,” Clarke said. “Once she's in there, she'll be a hostage, the only thing keeping the Grounders from attacking Arkadia. If he kills her, or lets her die, he loses his leverage.”

“Buying us time to figure out another plan,” Octavia said, a grin slowly stretching across her face. “Jesus Christ, Griffin. This might actually work.”

“Now wait just a minute,” Abby said, shaking her head as though to clear it. “Just hold on. Clarke, this is insane. There are so many ways this could go wrong.”

“Do you have a better idea, Mom?” Clarke demanded, feeling her protective instincts rising once more. “Because if you do, I’m all ears.”

Abby looked at her with something like desperation. “Honey, you need to stop and think this through.”

But Clarke was done. “We don’t have time for that, Mom!” she shouted, hands curling into fists. “Lexa doesn’t have much time left. And if she dies, any chance that this  _ can  _ work dies with her.” Her mother opened her mouth to argue, but Clarke didn’t let her. “If we sneak in there now without her, maybe we can save a few people,” she said, her voice dropping low and beseeching, filled with omega persuasiveness. She was sure her mother must know what she was trying to do, but she didn’t care. If it meant Abby would at least  _ listen  _ to her, would stop seeing her as her young omega daughter and instead see her as someone who was trying to keep them alive, she'd do whatever it took. “If we do this, we have a chance to save everyone.”

She could tell the moment when her mother gave in to the fire in her eyes and the conviction in her scent. Her shoulders dropped, and she let out a short sigh. “All right,” she said, favoring Clarke with an unexpected smile. “I know when you’ve made up your mind.”

Clarke returned her smile as best she could, eyes stinging at the unexpected reminder of when she'd last seen her mother. Then, as now, she'd been making another life-altering decision, although at the time she never could have predicted exactly where her choice to keep her pups could have led. But for all of the pain and heartbreak she'd endured, she found that she ultimately didn’t regret it. It had brought her back to her mate, brought her back to herself…and, if everything didn’t end today, it would bring her home.

But she couldn’t think like that, couldn’t think about the future when there was no guarantee she’d even have one. Leaning out of the dugout's Ark-side entrance, she checked the sky and found it beginning to lighten. Dawn couldn’t be far off. “Mom, you'll need to go first,” Clarke said, turning back to her mother. Abby frowned.

“What do you mean? I thought we were—”

_ “We _ are,” Clarke told her, “but you're not coming with us. When we show up, you’ll be ready and waiting in the medbay, just like you've been all night. Pike can't lock you up for something you didn’t do.”

“Try him,” Octavia muttered. Clarke ignored her, keeping her focus on her mom. Abby looked like she wanted to keep arguing, but something in Clarke’s face or voice or scent must have convinced her otherwise. After a long moment, she leaned forward and pulled Clarke into a hug.

“Be safe,” she whispered into Clarke’s hair, her voice tight. “I don’t want to lose you. Not again.”

Clarke nodded as best she could in Abby’s tight embrace. “I will, Mom,” she said, giving her mother a watery smile when she pulled away. Abby looked at her for a little longer, as though drinking in the sight of her, before she moved to the Ark-side entrance of the Den.

“I’ll see you both at sunrise. Don’t be late.”

Clarke had only managed a weak chuckle before her mother was gone, slithering down the hillside to the gap in the fence.

“So what now?” Octavia asked. The tension in both of their scents was filling the dugout’s enclosed space, and Clarke wanted nothing more than to bolt out of there. Instead, she forced herself to lean out of the forest-side entrance and check the sky. It was brighter still, but not yet bright enough.

“Now we wait,” she said, gritting her teeth. The other omega nodded, looking like she liked it about as much as Clarke did, but she just busied herself with checking the ragged edge of her blade. Clarke looked down at Lexa, stroking a thumb along her mate’s burning, sweaty cheek.  _ Not long now,  _ she thought at her, wishing Lexa could somehow hear her.  _ Just a little longer, and then I’m gonna bring you home. _

***

They spent less than an hour in the dugout, silently avoiding each other’s eyes and trying to see how long they could go before leaning out to check the sky again, but it felt like an eternity. When Clarke found herself unconsciously twisting Lexa’s hair into a vague approximation of her war braids, she started to undo her work, but after a moment of consideration decided to proceed. Lexa would need every possible advantage for the fight that was to come.

Even though what she was about to do was quite possibly the dumbest, most daring, and most dangerous thing she’d ever done, Clarke found that she wasn’t scared. In the face of probable death, her fear had evaporated like the dew that had begun to rise from the meadow, promising a hot day. All of her options had evaporated similarly. Behind lay certain death; ahead of her it was merely a strong possibility. It wasn’t the first time since coming to Earth that she’d had her back against a wall, but it was the first time that she felt it supporting her, bracing her to take the next step. She was ready.

Octavia had taken the last check, so Clarke waited as long as she could before taking her turn. Twisting her neck, she lay back against the cool earth of the dugout’s floor and leaned up until she could see the sky. It was still a cool, deep blue, but the traces of outer space were fading, and she could see the glow of the sun preparing to burst above the treetops. By the time they got themselves out of the Den, it would be high enough in the sky to ensure that everyone—the watchers on Arkadia’s walls, the wall of Grounder warriors awaiting the call to battle—would be able to see them.

“It’s time,” she said, turning to Octavia. The other omega looked pale, but just gritted her teeth and nodded.

Working in silent tandem, they shifted Lexa back onto her makeshift pallet. Clarke made to begin backing out of the dugout, pulling the board with her, but Octavia stopped her. “We’ll want something to get their attention. The more of them who get a look at her and know the score, the less likely it is that somebody will just see movement and shoot."

Clarke nodded, considering for only a moment before seizing upon her blue sash. Octavia found a suitable stick and tied it to the tip. It fluttered gently when it caught the edge of the breeze sweeping the meadow, and Clarke knew it would do the trick.

They both shuffled their way out of the dugout, pushing and pulling Lexa’s pallet with them. Clarke tried to ignore the way her mate’s limbs flopped lifelessly when she was jostled, replacing the sight with mental images of the ideal future: the gates of Arkadia opening for them, Clarke’s mother rushing forward to bring her in and hook her up to lifesaving machinery. But it wasn’t entirely successful, and soon she was left only with the image of her mate’s pale, still body.

The trees and brush around the dugout’s mouth gave them enough cover to crouch, deliberating in low voices over the best way of arranging themselves and their cargo for maximum visibility. The sooner Lexa’s army realized who they carried, the less likely it was that they would be shot. Eventually they settled opposing corners of the plank on one of their shoulders, like pallbearers handling a coffin. Clarke took the lead, the makeshift flag clutched tight in her sweaty fist. After one more check to make sure that the traces lashing Lexa to the pallet were secure, she turned to Octavia.

“Last chance to—”

“Just go, Griffin,” the other omega growled. Her scent betrayed the unspoken promise that if Clarke didn’t follow her command, she wouldn’t be able to go through with it.

“One, two, three—up!”

They rose. The pallet wobbled, steadied, stayed firm. Clarke gave the flag a testing snap, and it flowed out behind her perfectly. She sucked in a breath. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Clarke took the lead, shouldering aside the thin saplings ahead of her to push her way out into the meadow proper. After taking a moment to let her eyes adjust to the sudden glare, she charted a zigzag path down the slope of the hill that led to Arkadia. The serpentine motion would keep Lexa’s weight more evenly distributed between the two of them and prevent her from sliding off the pallet, and it would also give the Grounder army more chances to see who they carried.

_ Or to shoot us full of arrows. _

Clarke banished the thought from her mind, darting a glance at the warriors closest to them. They weren’t too far—one swift charge could bring the soldiers down on them in minutes—and Clarke could just make out the sleepy faces of the nearest guards as they traded shifts. She inadvertently made eye contact with one of them as he blinked blearily at her, before his eyes suddenly went wide. She watched him turn and dash over to another warrior, grabbing her arm and shouting animatedly while pointing in their direction.

“Well, they’ve definitely seen us,” Octavia muttered. “We should probably get going…”

“Yeah,” Clarke said. She shifted the burden of Lexa’s pallet higher on her shoulder, and then they set off.

The commotion sparked by the first soldier spread like wildfire around the ring of the blockade. Clarke couldn’t make out what anyone was saying, but there was shouting, confusion, the beating of sword against shield. Nervous agitation fluttered in her stomach, and she suddenly found herself rethinking every aspect of her plan.  _ What if they haven’t heard yet about Lexa? What if they don’t know that I’ve got her? What if they don’t recognize her?  _ But Titus was sure to have sent messengers to the army, on Polis’s swiftest horses. Even with their head start, Clarke knew they couldn’t have arrived at Arkadia more than a few hours before those riders. Still, though, all it would take was one trigger-happy hothead to bring the whole thing crashing down.

“Clarke,” came Octavia’s warning voice as they completed another turn. Clarke whipped her head around from where she had been staring at the army, trying to glean some sense from its agitated buzz, to realize that they were now within shouting range of Arkadia’s walls. This close, she could see its defensive upgrades clearly. The electric fence was reinforced with steel sheets torn from the Ark itself. Guard towers rose from various points along the span, bristling with riflemen. The sight of all that weaponry trained on her made her stomach drop in a way that seeing the Grounder army hadn’t. She tried to tell herself it was just because of what had happened to Lexa, but she knew that wasn’t true. The truth was that she was afraid those guns were more likely to be used on her.

But they arrived at the bottom of the hill without incident. Clarke’s shoulder burned, and her whole body ached with exhaustion, as she faced the gates of Arkadia head-on, but she kept walking forward steadily.  _ Almost there,  _ she told herself.  _ Not long now, and you can rest. Lexa will be safe, and you can rest.  _ She was finally close enough to make out who was on duty in the towers, and with a sudden thrill of relief recognized Bellamy’s face. His eyes widened as they caught hers, but he didn’t look particularly surprised.  _ My mom must have tipped him off. _

A low murmur of voices rose from the watchers on the walls, but Bellamy’s voice rose above them. “It’s Clarke!” she heard him shouting. “Open the gate!”

He must have still had a fair amount of influence, because before long, the reinforced doors were groaning open. Sucking in a breath, Clarke walked forward, entering Arkadia for the first time since the massacre. Her eyes flicked around the central square, taking in the unfamiliar hulks of newly constructed huts and sheds, a pen that kept in animals, hutches for chickens… But they were soon obscured by the crowd of people thronging around her, eyes and voices bright with recognition and anticipation.

“Clarke!”

“It’s Clarke!”

“Did you see…”

“Can you see her?”

“Is she—”

“Clarke, what’s going on?”

“Who’s she got with her?”

“Would somebody care to tell me what the hell is going on here?”

Pike’s voice was comparatively soft, but it somehow cut through the building noise of the crowd like a blade. The gathering throng of people had forced Clarke and Octavia to halt in the middle of the square, but now it split right down the center, revealing Clarke’s old Earth Skills teacher, and Arkadia’s new Chancellor. Clarke wanted to glare and seethe at him as he scanned her with his cool, dark gaze, but she was too exhausted. Her legs were trembling with the effort of keeping her upright, and apparently she wasn’t the only one.

“Clarke, I’ve gotta—”

“Put her down,” Clarke said. Slowly and awkwardly, she and Octavia maneuvered Lexa’s pallet to the dirt of the square. Clarke badly wanted to glance down, to see her mate’s chest move, but she kept her gaze locked with Pike’s. It was more important not to give even the slightest impression of giving ground.

Stepping around Lexa protectively, she squared herself to face Pike. She felt her hands curling into fists at her sides as he got closer, but she kept her face as impassive as she could. After a long moment of consideration, Pike nodded at her. “Clarke Griffin. Or should I call you  _ Wanheda?”  _ There was a trace of mockery in his tone, but it wasn’t hard for Clarke to ignore it. She was too used to the slight, and too tired and nervous to care. “What brings you to Arkadia?”

“I come seeking asylum for myself and everyone with me,” Clarke said, her voice rough with exhaustion and tension.

“And who is that exactly?” Pike demanded. His voice remained soft, but it was layered with the beginnings of alpha overtones. Clarke remembered how he’d been able to keep his class mesmerized with nothing more than the sound of his voice, even through the most stultifying material.

“Octavia Blake, and  _ Leksa kom Trikru,”  _ she said, as though she wasn’t talking about the leader of the three hundred warriors Pike had massacred. “Commander of the Grounders.”

A gasp ran through the crowd, and Clarke experienced a sick thrill at seeing Pike’s eyebrows fly up: she’d finally,  _ finally  _ managed to surprise him. “You brought the leader of our enemies through our gates,” Pike said, disbelief plain in his scent. Without waiting for her to respond, he turned to the guards flanking him. “Who authorized letting them in?”

“I did, sir,” came Bellamy’s voice, and she turned to see him pushing through the crowd. He looked pale and haggard, the circles under his eyes so dark they could have been bruises, but he held his ground when Pike’s baleful gaze fixed on him. “Clarke’s one of us, and so is my sister.”

Pike looked at him like he’d gone insane. “Clarke has been living with _them._ She _brought their leader_ inside our walls. And we’ve already spoken about your sister’s…predilections.” 

Octavia growled, low, but Clarke shot her a warning look.

“She was serving as our Ambassador to the Grounders,” Bellamy said hoarsely, looking like he was about to faint under Pike’s glare. “And she  _ brought  _ us their leader. If we take her prisoner, the Grounders won’t dare to attack.”

Pike’s calm veneer was wearing thin. “And why shouldn’t I just kill her right now?”

“Because the Grounders know I have her,” Clarke said loudly. She was acutely conscious that they were putting on a show for the hundreds of eyes on them. Her ability to make Pike understand the situation was all that stood between Lexa and death. “If you kill her, they’ll attack Arkadia the moment they find out.”

A susurrus of nervous muttering swept the crowd, but Clarke ignored them, focusing on Pike. He was glaring at her fully, waves of alpha scent wafting at her dizzyingly, but she forced herself to stand firm and not wrinkle her nose. “When it came time to pick sides, you chose them,” he said, disgust vibrating through his tone. “Why shouldn’t I just kill you?”

But before Clarke could answer, the murmuring of the crowd became a storm of sudden outrage. Clarke listened as understanding of the stakes filtered through her people like water, first a trickle and then a roar. Soon they were in the eye of a hurricane of fury and disbelief, the Arkadians expressing their incredulity that Pike would have dared to suggest killing her. She was  _ Clarke!  _ She’d saved the Delinquents at the dropship, had saved them from the Grounders and then the Mountain, and now she was back… Clarke kept her silence, letting her people’s voices speak for her. Folding her arms, she eyed Pike.  _ I guess you have your answer, huh? _

Furious understanding dawned in Pike’s eyes as he shouted, “Enough!” The noise level dropped but didn’t entirely go away, like the sullen embers of a hastily-doused fire. “Take them into custody,” he snapped at Bellamy, “and lock them up separately.” Bellamy looked mulish, like he wanted to argue, but Clarke shook her head at him minutely, holding her wrists out for cuffs.

“Listen to me,” Pike called to the crowd, as Bellamy stepped forward and zip-tied her hands. “We are at war! The enemy will take any opportunity they can to strike at our hearts. Our priority, before  _ anything else,  _ needs to be keeping our people and our land safe!”

The mood of the crowd was still ugly, but she could tell Pike was winning them back. He was earnest and persuasive, his alpha dominance mixing expertly with concerned protectiveness. They had been very close to rioting, Clarke thought as she watched him work. The only other person she could imagine performing a similar feat was Lexa.

Clarke darted a glance at her mate, her breath catching in her chest. She was too far away to tell for certain whether Lexa was still breathing, and she knew they didn’t have much time. 

The crowd was beginning to disperse, its mass breaking off into smaller throngs and huddles as people moved away to discuss the turn of events with friends and family members. The moment Pike turned back to look at her, she blurted out, “She needs medical care!”

The alpha stared at her. “Are you kidding me? What makes you think I’m going to—”

“If you don’t, she’ll die,” Clarke said, no longer able to keep back the fear that was making her voice tremble. Pike’s eyes narrowed, and she was sure he was doing his best to figure out just what Lexa meant to her, but she didn’t care. This was too important. She could deal with the consequences later. “And you might as well have killed her, for all the Grounders will know.”

A towering wave of fury wafted at her on Pike’s scent, and it was all she could do to keep her knees from buckling, but he knew she had him in a bind. “Get Dr. Griffin,” he spat to one of the guards. The beta raised his radio and spoke into it, and within moments Clarke’s mother was tearing across the square, the guards who were meant to be her escort trotting to keep up.

As soon as she reached them, Abby crushed Clarke to her chest, as though she hadn’t just seen Clarke barely an hour ago. “Thank god,” she whispered into Clarke’s hair. “I was so afraid… I thought I’d never see you again.”

“I’m okay, Mom,” Clarke said, her voice muffled by her mother’s shoulder. “I’m okay. But Lexa needs you. Please,  _ please…” _

The urgency in her scent must have gotten to Abby, because after one more tight squeeze she pulled away. “Get her into the medbay,” she ordered the guards, as though she were the Chancellor and not Pike. “And tell Jackson to prep for surgery. We need to do this as soon as possible, or we’re going to lose her.”

After a moment of befuddled hesitation, two guards picked up Lexa’s pallet and began carrying her into the Ark itself, her mother following after, barking orders into a radio. Clarke stared after her mate for as long as she could, but the moment Lexa vanished into the darkness of the Ark, a strange kind of emptiness hollowed out her chest. It was filled a moment later by waves of exhaustion, satisfaction, and relief that made her knees buckle. She had delivered Lexa into the arms of her enemies, and they were now both prisoners of a xenophobic mass murderer—but for the moment that didn’t matter.

When Bellamy began towing her away, presumably to a cell somewhere, she went quietly. Her vision blurred and she stumbled with tiredness, needing his hand on her elbow to keep her from falling several times, but she didn’t care. Clarke’s last conscious thought as she collapsed onto a cot in a narrow room, the cell door swinging shut, was that Lexa was alive, was in her mom’s care, and all of Arkadia’s medical knowledge and technology was devoted to keeping her that way.

_ Lexa’s going to live. _


	26. that would be enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad you guys enjoyed the last chapter - it was honestly one of my favorite things to ever have written, and I'm kind of pissed we'll never get to see that badassery portrayed by Captain Eliza Taylor onscreen. This chapter isn't going to be quite so action-packed, but there are some important emotional moments in it that I hope you'll appreciate, and also some setup for the endgame. We're getting really close! 
> 
> As always, let me know what you think in the comments and on tumblr @n1ghtwr1ter!

Upon waking, she wasn’t certain that she'd opened her eyes at all. The darkness was thick, swirling, and complete, and her head felt stuffed with wool. Somewhere in her body there was pain, but she felt sufficiently disassociated from it that she couldn’t be sure of its location.    


It took some effort to remember that turning her head was a possibility, and to recall the motion necessary to do so, almost like she had to order each muscle to move separately. As soon as she did, light – harsh, bitter, cold – flared in her eyes, making them burn. She squeezed them shut, but she could still see its glow through her closed lids. The thickness in her head settled into a throbbing ache, and her lips curled back over her teeth in a silent snarl.   


She attempted to open her eyes a couple more times, but each time was so painful, and the light so unyielding, that she was forced to close them again almost immediately. Gritting her teeth, she reached up to rub at her watering eyes – or tried to. Her arm wouldn’t move. Panic cut sharply through her muddled brain, dragging quick, harsh breaths through her lungs. She attempted to move her other arm and found it similarly immobile.    


Had she been paralyzed from the neck down?   


A visceral fear cut through her, and she sent the signals to her arms and legs to thrash. After a moment of struggling to remember how to do so, she felt them move – sluggishly at first, but with increasing speed and force. Her legs, at least – her arms remained largely pinioned at her sides, able to move only a few inches in any direction. All of their movements were accompanied by the clanking of metal.    


Restraints. She was restrained!   


An entirely different sort of fear began to seep into her brain, the fear of the wild animal for the trap. She might not have been a prisoner in her own body, but she was a prisoner. Snarls rattled through her chest, growing louder every moment, and she increased her efforts to free her arms. Various loose, disassociated memories were coming together to form a picture that spiked her terror. The strange, harsh lighting; the unfamiliar surroundings; the metal restraints – all of these things coalesced into remembrances of descriptions of the Mountain she'd been given by some of the survivors she'd debriefed. The Mountain Men's lab, specifically, where they stole her people's blood.   


Panic made her snarls erupt into guttural roars, and she yanked even harder at her restraints. She was aware of a dull pain throbbing in her wrists that had not been there before, but she ignored it. She had to get out, had to get away, had to tell Clarke –   


_ Clarke! _   


Oh  _ Keryon, _ where was Clarke? If she was a prisoner of the  _ Maunon, _ it was probable that Clarke was too! After all, Clarke had been with her when she…when…   


She frowned, her struggles slowing to a halt as she fought through the fog in her brain to remember what had happened. There had been the bullet – she had begged Clarke to let her go, to let another take her place as  _ Heda, _ one who would be strong enough to bear the Flame now instead of weeks or months later… She remembered Clarke refusing, but she had slipped into sleep, not expecting to wake until she was in the company of her predecessors… Only she had awakened, she recalled vaguely, if only in brief flashes: the roof of a cart in motion, drumming with rain; a bright spark of pain as her body was jostled, and the roughness of wood under her shoulders; the smell of damp earth, and Clarke's pale, anxious face weaving dizzyingly overhead as she struggled to speak…   


She shook her head, unable to make sense of it. She had not expected, when she fell asleep after the bullet, to wake at all. That was the last memory she understood clearly. She shook her head harder, hoping the motion might clear some of the murk within it, but her attention was caught by something else: the utterly bizarre sensation of something taped under her skin. Her panic rose again at the unfamiliar feeling and continued to rise, blotting out all else. Whatever this thing was doing, it was inside her!    


She had to get it out. Gasping, she struggled harder, realizing after a moment that her restraints were attached to a long metal bar. If she jerked her shoulder up and leaned forward as far as possible, she could just grasp the strangely-textured tube that was somehow attached to her arm. It took her straining fingers a couple of tries, but eventually she was able to get a firm enough grip and pull.   


Pain lanced through her, making her cry out. Her head spun, and she slumped back against the pillows, gasping. A chorus of strange beeping burst to life and she heard a sudden shout, and then the sound of boots clanking on metal. Then there were hands on her shoulders, pushing her back into the bed, and a voice ordering her to be still with cool urgency.    


She attempted to disobey both – surely this was her captor, the one who'd restrained her and put the strange tube in her arm – but her struggles were weak, and growing weaker. Still, it was enough to concern the speaker – she heard the voice grow louder, more forceful, imbued with alpha command.   


“-losing too much blood. She's gonna have to be sedated – Jackson, give her benzos, and for god's sake will you brutes hold her down so she doesn’t hurt herself worse and make my work go to shit –”   


More shouting, more hands on her, but it was growing increasingly distant, increasingly hard to understand. The light that had burned so harshly in her eyes was receding, and she struggled to keep it in focus, but it was fading too fast. The only thing keeping her in the waking world was another, more powerful fear.    


“Clarke,” she croaked, her throat feeling like it had been scorched by fire. “Clarke…”   


“Lexa, you need to calm down, okay? You're in the medbay, hooked up to a lot of machinery that’s keeping you alive. Clarke's all right, but if you keep struggling like this you won't be…”   


But the last thing Lexa truly heard was  _ Clarke's all right. _ It was all she'd needed to hear. She melted back into the bed behind her, a leaden feeling seeping through her limbs. With that one golden phrase, the acknowledgement of the safety of what was most important to her, most precious, she was able to let darkness take her once more.   


***   


The next time Lexa woke, she was instantly aware of several things in her immediate environment that had changed, and several that hadn’t. The room was blazing with light everywhere, screens blinking with incomprehensible colors and patterns, and harsh white light blared from the ceiling, stinging her eyes. She winced, blinking hard, but a few tears escaped to run down her cheeks. When she reached up to brush them away, however, she found that her wrists were still bound.   


Fear rose in her again as she looked down to take in the handcuffs secured to the bed's metal siding, but it wasn’t the same sort of primal terror that had thrown her into a panic earlier. Her head was also clearer, she realized. Whether it had been fogged from her wound or from some drug the  _ Skaikru _ healers had given her, she wasn't sure – possibly both? – but either way, while she still felt a little duller than usual, her thoughts weren't so sluggish and muddied.   


She was also, she realized suddenly, very hungry.   


“Good, you're up.”   


Lexa's head whipped around to take in the source of the voice, so quickly that it spun. She found herself wincing again as the room blurred dizzyingly around her, and it took her a moment to recover enough to focus on Abby Griffin's face. “I was beginning to worry I'd given you a bit too much,” the older alpha said, folding herself into a chair near the bed. There was a book near it, and a plate with crumbs on it, suggesting that someone had kept a vigil here recently.   


Lexa's first attempt to speak only resulted in a hoarse croak, her throat dry and raspy from disuse. “Here,” Abby said, frowning, and offered her a cup from a table near the bed. Lexa reached up to take it but her restraints clinked again, reminding her that she was a prisoner here.   


_ The question is whose? Pike's, I'd expect.  _   


Abby didn’t bother trying to hand her the cup, just raised it to her lips. Lexa drank the cool water gratefully, feeling it pouring down her throat and eroding some of the fog in her brain. When she had finished, she looked back at Abby. “Thank you.”Her voice was still hoarse, but at least it was intelligible.    


Abby nodded, eyeing Lexa narrowly, as though she were a cornered, wounded beast. In truth, Lexa somewhat felt that way herself. So the older alpha's next question wasn’t entirely unwarranted. “Are you going to go feral on me again and pull another stitch?”    


Lexa shook her head, feeling her cheeks heat up. She was acutely conscious of a an oddly familiar sensation, and it took her a moment to place it. It was highly reminiscent of how she felt under Brenna's scrutiny, or how she'd felt under Anya's. Absurdly, she felt the pressure of tears at the corners of her eyes, but a few blinks ensured they did not fall.    


“Clarke told me what happened in Polis,” Abby said after a long moment, watching her carefully. “With the gunshot from your advisor. And I just wanted to say…thank you.”   


Lexa's eyebrows shot up. That was about the last thing she'd been expecting to hear from the older alpha's mouth. Reading her confusion, Abby clarified, “You took a bullet that was meant for my daughter. If not for you, she wouldn’t be here.”   


For a while, Lexa could only stare at her, unable to quite believe what she was hearing. She knew Abby had never liked her – not even before she and Clarke had become involved – and any respect the older alpha had ever granted her was grudging. But this was different. Abby's voice was redolent with emotion, her eyes shining with sincerity. “So, thank you,” she told Lexa, her words a little thicker than usual, “for my daughter.”   


And then, to Lexa's total shock, Clarke’s mother leaned forward and wrapped both arms around her.   


Lexa stiffened automatically. She wasn’t used to being touched like this by anyone other than Clarke, and even then she sometimes had to tell her body to relax. Abby seemed to understand Lexa's discomfort, however, because she only held Lexa for a few seconds before pulling away.   


“Now, I may be Clarke's mother, but I’m also your doctor,” she said, reaching for a clipboard that hung at the end of the bed and paging through it briefly, before fixing Lexa with a hard look. “And I need your word that you're not going to try to get up or take your IV out again. You’re going to be all right, barring any complications, but if you try a stunt like that again you'll delay your recovery further, and maybe even get yourself killed. Clarke would never forgive me if I let that happen.”    


Lexa felt absurdly like she was a pup being scolded for doing something foolish. “I swear it.”    


“Good,” Abby said briskly. “Now, with that out of the way, you're probably wondering what happened between Polis and here, and why you're –”   


But Lexa's desperation to know Clarke's fate had been rising ever since Abby had first spoken, and now it had reached its boiling point. “I’m sorry,” she interjected, “but please – where is Clarke? Is she – is she hurt, or…?”   


Abby sighed, looking mildly exasperated. “I was getting to that, but I suppose I should have known to start there,” she said, giving Lexa a look that made her duck her head. Satisfied, the older alpha continued, “Clarke is fine. I’ve got her on fluid replacement, an enhanced diet, and neonatal vitamins, because it's dangerous for someone in her condition to go so long without proper nutrition, but she should be all right, and so should the pups. I haven’t yet managed to figure out how to get her an ultrasound without telling Pike the whole story, but I'm working on it.”   


Relief flooded Lexa's body, making her sag back into the pillows behind her. Clarke was all right. Their pups were all right. Abby was caring for her, giving her the best of what  _ Skaikru _ medicine had to offer, and Clarke was safe.    


_ For the moment, anyway.  _   


The dark thought swept away the momentary high of elation that had flooded Lexa's system, and she regarded the cuffs encircling her wrists with a hard stare. As much as Abby might be trying to treat her like any other patient, they were constant physical reminders that she was a prisoner here – and so, presumably, was Clarke.    


When she looked up, Abby was regarding her with a dark look that suggested she had gleaned some of the tenor of Lexa's thoughts. “Where is she?” Lexa asked, suddenly having to work to keep a growl out of her voice. She had given her word to Abby that there wouldn’t be any further wild escape attempts, but the thought of someone keeping her from her mate made her feel that it might be harder to keep that promise than she had initially anticipated.    


“She's safe,” Abby repeated. Lexa couldn’t be certain whether the increased tension in her voice was due to the agitation and protectiveness that must be filtering through her scent, or whether it was because the older alpha wasn’t sure herself of how long those words would hold true. “For now,” she admitted, acceding to Lexa's pointed gaze with a firm one of her own. “Pike’s got her locked up in solitary. I was allowed to visit her long enough to do a quick physical and to get her treatment set up, but otherwise she’s been under 24-hour guard.”    


Lexa could feel a snarl rumbling through her chest, and it was all she could to prevent it from becoming audible. She didn't need to antagonize Clarke's mother any further. They were on the same side, after all – even though it was difficult to remember, given her surroundings.    


“What will happen to her?” she asked, once she'd gotten control of herself. Abby grimaced.   


“It's hard to say. Pike wanted to kill her when she arrived with you and Octavia in tow -” and here Lexa couldn’t hold back her growl, but thankfully Abby took it with nothing more than a roll of her eyes – “but it was clear pretty early on that our people weren’t going to let him do that. If he'd tried, he would’ve had a riot on his hands.”    


Lexa nodded, but couldn't trust herself to respond – she was reduced to breathing hard, attempting to regain her self-control. Abby watched her for a moment before continuing, “Pike will have to keep her alive for the time being, at least until he can convince enough people that she's a threat to national security. But given that there's a big damn army at our gates to draw their attention, that may be a little harder than he'd like.”    


All of the blood drained out of Lexa’s face. “My army is here?” she croaked. “Who’s leading them? What are their orders? Do they –“   


“We have no idea,” Abby said, darting a glance at the monitors beside her bed. “There hasn’t exactly been an open line of communication.”    


Lexa attempted to sit up further in the bed, but when her cuffs prevented her she let out a growl that was half-frustrated and half-frantic. “You must let me talk to them.”    


Abby shook her head. “No chance. Pike wanted to kill you too, when you got here. Clarke had a hell of a time convincing him to even let me give you medical attention.”   


Lexa wouldn't have been able to believe that Clarke could have managed such a thing if she wasn’t living proof of it herself. She was well aware of her mate's skills at the negotiations, manipulations, and outright lies it often took to get her way, and to assure her people’s survival in their harsh world, but Lexa was the enemy leader, for  _ Keryon's _ sake. “And how did she accomplish that?” she asked, struggling to keep her voice level.    


Abby smiled, her scent redolent with incredulity and pride. “She…made him aware of the situation he was in.” At Lexa's pleading look, she continued, “She made your army aware that she had you, and then she marched right up to the gates of Arkadia and demanded to be let in.”    


Lexa let out a breath. The thought of how much danger her mate had been in made her heartbeat quicken – but Clarke had done it. No, Clarke had done the impossible – yet again, she had faced an impossible situation and had somehow snatched a stalemate from the jaws of defeat.    


_ She did that for me.  _   


The thought floated into her brain and made Lexa burn with pride and guilt. Her mate had faced down both an army and her own hostile nation, putting both herself and their pups in terrible jeopardy, to get Lexa to the one place she could be cured. The imagery that Abby's words conjured made her head spin. Clarke had walked a knife's blade to bring her here, and there was still great peril ahead.    


Slowly, Lexa shook her head. “She shouldn't have done that,” she muttered, unable to meet Abby's eyes. “She put herself at so much risk… The next Commander would have protected her. I made sure of it.”    


“You know she had to,” Abby said harshly. The force in her voice made Lexa look up, wide-eyed, to see her mate's mother glaring at her, nostrils flaring. Her alpha scent stung in Lexa's nose, but for once it didn’t make her feel like puffing up, trying to prove her own dominance. Whether it was that they were on Abby's turf, or that she was so weak, dependent on Abby's care and heartsick for her mate and worried about their future, she couldn’t tell – maybe it was all of those things. But the power and anger radiating from Clarke's mother made her flinch, shrinking back against the pillows in an attempt to make herself look as small as she felt.   


After a long moment, Abby sighed, shutting her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. The tension pouring from her eased enough to let Lexa relax just a bit, but she kept her eyes on the older alpha, wary of another outburst.    


“Explain something to me,” Abby said, her voice still tight, “because I just can’t understand it. Clarke tried to tell me, but I don’t know if she got it either. She told me that before you lost consciousness the first time, you were telling her to…to let you go.” Clarke's mother looked up at her, frowning. “Are you suicidal?”    


Lexa's eyes went wide. “What? I – no! That’s not what I meant by – “ She shook her head, trying to make her thoughts slow down enough that she could put them into words. “As children, those of us who are born Nightbloods are taught that we are merely potential vessels for the Commander’s Spirit. When a Commander dies, her spirit will choose the worthiest of us as its new vessel,” she said, feeling a dull headache sprout between her temples at the difficulty of making ancient philosophical precepts accessible for the uninitiated. “Thus the Flame, the Spirit of the Commander, is passed down in unbroken lineage from bearer to bearer. But each Commander leaves a legacy, both among their people but also with their successor.” She could see Abby's frown deepening, and hastened to explain.   


“I hear the voices of my predecessors in my sleep, and receive their guidance in my waking hours,” she said. “I know how that must sound to you – Clarke gave me that exact same look when I first told her,” she said, startling a laugh out of Abby. “But it's true. My successor, whoever he – or she – is, will hear my voice as well, and receive my guidance. I don't know how it's possible, but I know that the Flame will protect Clarke.” She had felt that conviction from it ever since her conversation with Titus, and she felt a quiet hum of certainty from it now that gave her the strength to continue.   


“Whoever carries the Flame shall rule as  _ Heda,” _ she told Abby, watching confusion war with skepticism across her face. “A whole, uninjured successor could and would protect Clarke. Better than I can lying in a bed, anyway,” she said, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. “The Coalition is fragile, held together only by the strength of  _ Heda. _ They needed someone strong, someone whose weakness wouldn’t keep them from the battlefield or the negotiating table. I have trained all of my Nightbloods in the ways of the Commander, and have received their oaths that they would protect both Clarke and  _ Skaikru. _ Any of them will be able to –"   


“Bullshit,” Abby growled. Lexa's eyebrows flew up, but the older alpha just said it again. “That’s bullshit and you know it. And if you don’t, it's about time you learned.”    


Clarke’s mother stood and folded her arms across her chest, radiating anger and dominance and, strangely, a kind of sympathetic pain. “You keep acting as though all that matters is that your Flame or whatever it is has a strong bearer. As though you don't matter.”    


Lexa nodded. “Yes, that's exactly –“   


“But you do matter!” Abby interjected, nearly shouting. “You matter to Clarke, and one day you'll matter to your children! If you didn't, she wouldn’t have gone through what she did to get you here!” Abby's chest was heaving, her eyes staring hard into Lexa's. “You’re more than just the Commander to them,” she said, a little more quietly, her voice shaking with conviction. “And you have a duty to them to do everything you can to survive.”    


Even though she knew Abby couldn’t have intended it, her words sparked a memory within Lexa of standing with Clarke in her tent, the battle for Mount Weather near on the horizon. Clarke had stepped in close, her eyes soft and pained.  _ Maybe life should be about more than just surviving, _ she'd said then.  _ Don't we deserve better than that? _   


_ Maybe we do, _ Lexa had replied, and moved in to kiss her. That had been the moment she had allowed open the door to that possibility. But she hadn’t believed it – not fully – until now.    


“Because you matter so much to Clarke, you matter to me as well,” Abby told her quietly. “Clarke has been through far more pain and heartache than anyone her age should ever have to. I’m not letting her lose someone else she cares about. But I need you to promise that you'll hold your life a little more dearly from now on.”    


Lexa could only stare at her. As revelatory as Abby's outburst had been, she was, if anything, even more shocked by these quiet words. As dearly as she'd loved Anya, the older sister she'd never had, and as much as she'd seen a father figure in Titus, neither of them had ever spoken to her that way – had ever blatantly told her that they were looking out for her, that she was in their care, purely because of who she was – not what she could become. She knew that Costia, at least, had cared about her that way, and she believed that Anya had come to – but they were gone. All she had had left was her duty to her people. She had told herself that that would have to be enough.   


But now here was Abby saying that she cared about Lexa – not _Heda,_ but Lexa – and of course there was Clarke… She hadn’t thought that Abby and Clarke looked much alike at all, but now she could see it. The same fierceness, the same determination, the same deep love for their people, was present in mother and daughter both. Lexa’s heart stung in her chest, a powerful ache to be with her mate.    


But Abby was still waiting for an answer, Lexa realized, as the older alpha's eyebrows rose at her. “I promise that…that I will try,” she said at last, haltingly. It was the best she could do, for now.   


Abby seemed to recognize that. “Good,” she said briskly. “In that case, the first order of business is for you to rest up. I don’t know what Clarke and her friends are planning, but I'm pretty sure it involves you alive, and a lot healthier than you are now.”    


“And what will we do?” Lexa said, eager for the opportunity to change the subject. Abby snorted.   


“Right now, absolutely nothing. Even if you weren’t chained up, you'd take one step out of this bed and fall over. I guarantee it.”    


Lexa narrowed her eyes and growled, fists clenching in the sheets, but Abby seemed to understand her reaction. “Look, I know it isn’t easy being laid up in bed. Pike's had me locked in here for the last two weeks because he doesn’t trust me to do anything other than take care of patients. Octavia's broken me out more than once, but I'm losing my mind in here,” the older alpha said, sighing as she took her seat once more. “But as I’ve learned the hard way, it's up to Clarke now. All we can do is wait, and trust her.”    


***   


Five steps up, five steps back. Seven steps across. Clarke didn’t need to pace out her prison to know its dimensions, because she knew them already: this was her old cell, from before they’d fallen to Earth. It still had her drawings on the walls and the floor – smudged and dusty, but they'd somehow survived. She wasn’t sure if Pike had known about it and put her in here on purpose, but she could feel herself swiftly regressing to the frustrated, itchy teenager she'd been during the year she'd spent here. Only now, having tasted the freedom of the ground, it was even worse. She had no idea how she'd managed to survive that long in this miserable box. She certainly wasn’t going to make it that long again. It had only been three days and she was already going crazy.   


At least, she thought it had been three days. Ever since she'd seen her mother - a brisk, perfunctory exam overseen by glowering guards who had shouted at both of them any time they’d tried to speak - she’d counted nine meals, which suggested three days. She hadn't recognized most of the guards - Pike must have been taking care to put Farm Station people on her door, people he was certain would be loyal to him. There were also always two of them. Clearly, Pike didn’t want anyone alone with her, susceptible to her powers of persuasion. It was smart, she had to admit, but also really inconvenient. Why couldn’t the bad guy be dumb for once?

  
She'd seen Bellamy a couple of times, but because he’d always been accompanied by one of Pike's people. It was uniquely maddening to spend an entire six-hour guard shift staring at his back, unable to communicate in more than worried glances and questioning looks, when anything could have happened out there! She was sure that Lexa hadn't died – she felt like somehow, in some intangible way, she'd just know. But even if that turned out to be bullshit, the Grounders surely would’ve wiped them out by now.   


Still, they had to figure out a way to communicate. If what Octavia had said back in Polis still held true – that Bellamy couldn’t make any headway in turning public opinion against Pike – she needed to step in somehow. It was hard to see how she could do that from a windowless, soundproof cell, but it was more urgent than ever. She'd engineered a stalemate, but there was no guarantee of how long it would hold. Clarke highly doubted Lexa's army would be content with allowing the man who'd massacred three hundred of their people to keep their Commander captive for long.    


As Clarke completed her umpteenth turn around her cell, her eyes caught the corner of her grey, rigid mattress. It was total hell going from the huge, soft, pillowy heaven that was her bed back in Polis to this torture device, but she doubted she'd have slept much anyway on goose down. Right now, though, it had caught her interest for another reason. It was a long shot, but she'd stuffed one of her sketchbooks between the mattress and the metal frame, as well as a pencil.  _ There's no way they’d have put me in here without tossing this place and finding it, _ she told herself, but she was already bending down to look.   


_ Well, holy shit. _ With a quick glance at the door to make sure that neither of the goons on duty were peering in at her, Clarke tugged the book out from under the mattress. Flipping through it brought a wave of nostalgia sweeping through her, as she leafed through pages and pages crammed with images of how she'd envisioned the ground. It had proven to be more terrible and more beautiful than she'd ever imagined, she thought, looking at a sketch of woods on the edge of a meadow. She'd drawn it in pencil from photos in her textbooks, but the memories she had of the real thing supplied the image with the dark green of its depths, a green that reminded her of a pair of eyes.   


_ Lexa…  _   


Although she'd done a very good job thus far of keeping her mind on the mission, on what she'd need to do in order to ensure that all of them survived, a primal part of her thrashed and roared and snarled, unwilling to understand why she remained separate from her mate. She needed to be with Lexa, caring for Lexa, making sure that she was safe and healing. If she'd awakened by now, it would have been to a totally alien environment, one that wouldn’t have smelled at all like Clarke. She would have been terrified, in pain, and alone…   


A pine branch abruptly acquired a new smudge, courtesy of a teardrop, and suddenly it was raining in the forest. Clarke swiped her sleeve angrily across her eyes, flipping quickly to the back of the sketchbook, where she knew there were still a few clean pages. She could write messages on them, maybe with pictograms or hidden among drawings, and pray that Bellamy could decipher them…but how was she supposed to get them to him?  _ Maybe I can chuck them at his head when he comes to bring me food.  _ The thought of his face if she did that startled a watery chuckle out of her, and for a brief moment the chilly grey room seemed a little brighter.   


Clarke’s head snapped up at the sound of voices in the corridor, boots clanking along the metal floor. “Shit,” she hissed, snatching up the notebook and pencil and scurrying back over to the bed. After a moment of panicked hesitation, she ripped a page out of it and tucked it and the pencil into her sleeve before stuffing the notebook back under the mattress. She didn’t have time to make sure it was secure; she’d just have to pray it didn’t fall out while the guards were in here.    


There was a heavy knock on the door, and then she heard someone shout, “Room service!” Frowning, Clarke scrambled to her feet, pushing the paper and pencil further up her sleeve before turning to face the door.   


It swung open and she arranged her features into a blank stare as best she could. But the face that poked around the door was familiar to her, and it was grinning. Clarke's eyes went wide.   


“Miller!”    


“Hey, Clarke.” He held out a tray piled high with food and a couple of horse pills – neonatal vitamins, she thought, courtesy of her mom. As she stepped forward to take it, however, he turned and said to someone still outside, “You’ve got five minutes before the next patrol comes by. Make it count.” Bellamy stepped into the room, and the door swung shut behind him.    


“Took you long enough,” Clarke said, folding her arms. Bellamy sighed.   


“I’m sorry. Pike's got you under 24-hour guard, and he's made sure none of the Delinquents are ever on rotation without one of his people.” Clarke just looked at him. She wasn’t interested in his excuses. Lexa's life – and her people's survival – was on the line.   


Bellamy looked like he hadn’t slept properly in a while, and there was a haunted expression in his eyes that Clarke recognized: it was the one that she saw in the mirror.  _ The difference being that I killed three hundred people because I had no choice, _ she thought savagely, unwilling to allow herself to feel any sympathy for him.  _ He made the decision to murder them in cold blood. _ She just wished she could make herself believe that the differences between them easily outweighed the similarities.    


“Pike thinks you’re dangerous, Clarke,” he said at last. “He doesn’t want anyone alone with you, and he thinks you're here to start something.”    


“He’d be right,” Clarke said, smirking a bit. “Where are we on that front, anyway?”    


Bellamy looked a little awestruck as he recounted, “A lot better than we were before you got here. People don’t like that you brought a Grounder in here, but they like the fact that Pike threatened to kill you in front of everybody even less. A lot less. They think you're the key to dealing with the army, because…well, you’ve gotten us out of bad situations before. They think you're gonna save us, Clarke.”    


Clarke struggled not to let the weight of that show, but it felt like he’d just dropped a heavy mantle on her shoulders. From Bellamy’s expression, she could tell that she hadn't been entirely successful. Unwilling to face his look of sympathy, she turned away, folding her arms around herself. But she couldn’t avoid asking the question burning in her chest for much longer. Everything hung on its answer.    


“If we start a rebellion, though, will they be with us?”    


The silence stretched long enough that Clarke turned, the worry that had been coiling in her gut now rising into her throat. She could see uncertainty in Bellamy's eyes, but also – just maybe – the embers of hope flickering behind the weariness.    


“It’s…hard to tell,” he said slowly. “They’re all scared more than anything, but most are still more afraid of the Grounders than they are of Pike. They still think they’re the real enemy.”    


“So I need to convince them otherwise,” Clarke said. Bellamy nodded, and Clarke sighed. “I hope you’ve got something in the works for how I'm supposed to do that while I'm sitting in a jail cell.”    


For the first time, Bellamy gave her a shadow of his old grin. “Raven's got a few ideas for that, yeah. You just need to figure out what you’re gonna say.”   


Clarke snorted. “Oh, so no big deal.”    


Bellamy shrugged, but his face was serious. “Whatever it is, it has to be soon. Pike knows he can’t kill you right now, but his patience won't last forever. I’m not exactly in his good graces, so I don’t know what, but I’m pretty sure he's planning something.”   


“And it's not gonna be good,” Clarke said darkly. Bellamy nodded.   


“You're only gonna get one shot at this, so…”   


“Make it count.”    


A frantic pounding on the door made both of them jump. “That’s Miller,” he hissed. “We’re out of time. I'll be back when I can, but Clarke, make sure you –“   


She didn’t get to find out what she should or shouldn’t do, because the door burst open. Pike had arrived.    



	27. while you were sleeping, i took over your town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note, I haven't watched anything past 307. So if my version of Pike is different from canon, I don't care xD Canon is bullshit anyway. Let me know what you think in the comments and on tumblr @n1ghtwr1ter!

“Clarke Griffin.”

There was a part of Clarke that wanted to raise her hand and say, “Here!” just as she had when Pike had been taking roll for her Earth Skills class, and only part of it was sarcasm. But how the hell was she supposed to respond?  _ Mr. Pike? Charles?  _ In the end, she said nothing at all and just looked at him.  

Pike stepped into the room, his alpha scent unfurling to fill it immediately and making Clarke's nose wrinkle. He'd always had the habit of doing that, overwhelming his classes when they got too rowdy, and he was a powerful enough alpha that it only took a few instances before everyone got the picture. He was more controlled about it than most, but everything he did and said was considered, calculated for maximum effect. Like now, for example. His scent said he owned the room, and yet he never took his eyes off her.  _ Pike thinks you're dangerous,  _ Bellamy had told her, and Clarke could see the truth of that in his gaze.

Somehow, that didn’t make her feel any better.

“Sir, I was just—” Bellamy said loudly, but Pike held up his hand.

“Just get out. I’ll deal with you later.” Bellamy shot her one more panicked look as he left, but her focus was solely on Pike.

Pike paused in the center of the room, studying her. She could feel herself getting impatient but she forced it down, knowing that patience was also one of his strong suits. He had often waited far longer than any other teacher for his students to ramble through an explanation, simply to expose the fact that they hadn’t done their homework. But she had learned patience as well—the patience of a hunter sitting in a tree for long, cold hours, waiting for her prey to pass by below, for the perfect moment to strike.

After a long moment of tense silence in which they simply regarded each other, Pike began to pace, cocking his head. “You’ve had a long, strange journey, haven’t you, Clarke?” His voice was low, soft, sympathetic, and it made her want to smile and nod, but she was prepared for that, and resisted.

“I’ve heard the Grounders call you  _ Wanheda  _ now, the Commander of Death,” he continued. The  _ Trigedasleng  _ word sounded awkward in his mouth. “What does that mean to them?”

Clarke tensed.  _ Here we go.  _ “I'm not sure,” she said carefully. “They started calling me that after I defeated Mount Weather, so I guess they think it means I have some kind of power over death.”

Pike nodded, considering. “Power over death. That sounds useful. Can you think of any way we could use that against them? Would it frighten them to see you or something? Because as you may have noticed, there are a lot of them, and not so many of us. We can use all the help we can get.” He paused in his pacing, turning to regard her fully. “And you are here to help us, right, Clarke? That’s what everyone’s been saying. 'Clarke's back.’ ‘Clarke will know what to do.’” He folded his arms across his chest. “They really think you're something.”

It was like she was sixteen again, in Earth Skills, letting the melodious sound of his voice lull her into a near-trance as he painted a picture of a world where fire-making and foraging and survival in fantastical terrain were necessities instead of mere theory, impossibly alien in the climate-controlled environment of the Ark. But somehow, Pike had made it feel closer to real. He had made Earth seem like somewhere she might see with her own eyes one day, 

Clarke remembered, if only for an hour once a week. That had been one of the reasons he’d been so popular as a teacher, and why she'd once found him inspiring. She'd drawn incredible pictures of the ground that he'd painted with his words, and had always found herself longing for it even more after his class was through. She'd once seen him as an artist who painted with words instead of oils. Now, though, all she saw was a murderer.

Pike was still waiting for her to answer him, Clarke realized. After the mesmerizing effect of his speech, her own voice sounded strange in her ears. “I’m here to do whatever I can to help keep our people safe,” she said. “But I don’t think we agree on who they need to be protected from.”

Pike just looked at her for a long moment, his eyes and scent unreadable. Clarke found herself balling her fists and struggling not to grind her teeth under the force of his regard.

“All that I want is to protect Arkadia,” Pike said at last, his words slow and measured. “To protect our people. You say that’s what you want too, Clarke, so that should make us allies. But you don’t seem to see me that way.”

“The difference is that I don’t kill innocent people who were sent to protect mine,” she replied, fighting to keep her voice level.

For the first time, Pike's scent betrayed a flicker of anger. Clarke knew it shouldn’t have felt as satisfying as it did, but he got control of himself too quickly for her to properly enjoy her little victory. “Ever since you arrived on the ground, you've done what you had to do to keep your people safe,” he said at last, and maybe it was just her, but did his words sound slightly more clipped? “And so have I. We've both been fighting Grounders ever since we first set foot on this Earth, fighting them to survive. The difference is that I don’t stop fighting my enemies until I know the danger's gone.”

“And every Grounder's a danger,” Clarke said flatly. Pike nodded. “You realize what you're talking about is genocide.”

“It’s them or us,” Pike said. Now Clarke was certain: his tone was definitely icier. “They set those terms when they attacked us as we stepped out of the ruins of Farm Station. They didn’t even give us a chance to bury our dead before they tried to wipe us out.”

Even though Clarke already knew what he would say, she had to say it: “That was the Ice Nation. They’re different from the rest.”

“They’re part of the Commander's Coalition, aren’t they?”

That threw her for a loop. Last she'd heard, he'd still been of the opinion that  _ the only good Grounder was a dead Grounder.  _ “They are, technically,” she said, “but their queen was preparing to rebel against Lexa. And now their queen is dead because of what they did to Farm Station, and to our people in Mount Weather.”

“I’m not interested in why the savages were murdering each other,” Pike said, and now Clarke couldn’t hold back a growl. His eyes lit up minutely, and she cursed herself, wishing desperately she could somehow reel the sound back in. “What I’m interested in is where your loyalties lie.”

Pike began to pace again, his movements tense and controlled, reminding Clarke viscerally of the panther that had been stealing her kills when she was out in the wild. “While the people of Arkadia may think you’re their savior, the fact remains that you left them four months ago to fend for themselves while you went to live among the Grounders. We tracked you, Marcus and Bellamy and I, trying to find you, worried you might be in danger. And yet when we find you, you're dressed up like a Grounder princess and submitting to this alpha, this Commander of theirs, who was supposed to be hunting you in the first place.” He stopped and shook his head, a little bit of a rueful smile on his face, like she was a student he was scolding for bad behavior. “I mean, you know how that looks, right?”

Of course she knew, when he put it like that. The implicit threat in his words was clear:  _ that's how I'll be telling your story to our people.  _ Clarke burned to shout  _ You're wrong!  _ But the truth was, at least part of it was right—and who were their people going to believe? The girl who'd abandoned them after Mount Weather, or the man who’d stepped in to protect them?

"People will have questions,” Pike was saying, fixing her with a narrow look. “I know I do. Chief among them being, what were you doing all those months? How did you survive all that time on your own?” Doubt was filtering through his voice and scent. “I mean, you were one of my best students, Clarke, but it's a little difficult to believe that you didn’t have any help. And then when we found you… Were you the Commander’s prisoner, or her favored pet in a gilded cage? A cage you volunteered to stay in the first chance you got—”

“I was staying there as Ambassador for our people!” Clarke growled, but even though she knew she had to sell this, her words lacked fire, because in part it was true. Lexa had been willing to let her go. She had chosen to stay because of Lexa, because she wanted to make sure the Commander kept her word, yes, but also because of the unfinished business between them. She hadn’t wanted to admit it then, not even to herself, but some part of her had known that she and Lexa weren’t done, and needed to see it through.

“Yet you didn’t come back when the Mountain attacked,” Pike said softly, looking at her as though he could read some of what she was thinking. “You didn’t come back when the Commander sent an army—“

“To protect us from the Ice Nation!”

“—and you didn’t come back when we were at war. Every time, you chose them,” Pike said, stabbing straight at the heart of her guilt in a way that Bellamy had only grazed. “And now you’ve brought the leader of the wolves right inside the sheepfold. She’s a ticking time bomb, and you know it.” His voice was quieter than ever, but his satisfaction was plain. “Her army will only stand for her to be imprisoned for so long. And when they get tired of it and want their Commander back, our people will pay the price. But you already knew that when you brought her here, didn’t you?”

He was walking to the door, looking like he’d already gotten what he wanted from her, even though she couldn’t fathom what that might be. In desperation Clarke shouted, “What the hell do you want, Pike? What do you expect me to do?”

“There’s a way to use her,” Pike said, pausing with his hand on the door. He barely spared her a glance. She was beneath his notice, or almost. “You’re smart, Clarke. Figure it out.”

“I don’t know what you're—“

“Just remember that our people are the ones who deserve to survive,” he told her, and then turned to his guards. “Let’s go,” he said, and they followed him like dogs told to heel. The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Clarke alone in her cell with nothing but her doubts and her visions of the Earth he'd spun for her.

***

Lexa was drowsing, having only just managed to quiet her mind long enough to begin drifting off. The drugs running through her system made her mind foggy, and she was inclined to fight it. Abby often ordered her to rest, and she knew she'd heal faster if she did as she was told, but it had always been difficult for her to rest when she was injured. There was still so much to do, after-action reports to receive, plans to make…

When Abby had growled at her for the dozenth time in a row that if she saw Lexa's eyes open when she turned around she would dope her up to the eyes, Lexa had responded wryly, “You’re not the first healer I’ve exasperated, and I’m sure you won’t be the last.” Abby's eyebrows had risen, and for a moment Lexa intensely regretted her cheek, but then Clarke's mother had let out a snort.

“Of course you'd be a terrible patient. Clarke must have had her hands full with you.”

Lexa had offered her a tentative grin, and Abby had rolled her eyes with a measure of affection that made her heart give a curious lurch.

Habitual restlessness aside, however, it was hard for Lexa to even think of sleep at a time like this. The alien nature of the environment was a contributing factor. The incessant brightness of the medbay's lights burned even through her eyelids, and her restraints didn’t allow to find a position that might mitigate them. The metallic, chemical smell of the room stung in her nostrils, and every time she heard boots clanking along the walkway outside the door, she found herself tensing. Everything about the place served to reinforce its strangeness, and to remind her that she was in danger.

Even with no way to ameliorate it, her mind hummed with plans of escape, plans of rescue, plans of rebellion—but all of them centered around her being able to break out of her chains and leave this room. As quickly as her brain concocted these schemes, however, it tore them down. Even if she could somehow escape, she would immediately be amongst people who saw her as a threat. They would only see one of those savages that their leader was protecting them against, and would either flee and alert the guards or attack her themselves. And that exposed the biggest flaw in all of her designs: herself. In every one of her strategies, she saw herself pushing through civilians, taking on several guards hand-to-hand, creeping through air ducts to reach her goals…all of which she would have been capable of ordinarily, but right now she knew she wasn't.

She squeezed her fist and felt her lip curl in a silent snarl at the weakness she felt where there should have been strength, and that was worst of all. She was  _ Heda,  _ and  _ Heda  _ was never helpless—but Lexa was. Lexa was helpless to protect her mate and pups, to prevent the slaughter of hundreds of people if Pike wasn’t stopped. She knew she needed to trust in Clarke, that she would find a way to get them out of this impossible situation, but her instincts, and her nature, screamed that this wasn’t enough. She needed to be with Clarke, helping Clarke, protecting Clarke…

_ Clarke… _

She was drifting off with Clarke's golden hair and sky-blue eyes in her mind, tormenting her and soothing her in equal measure, when the clunk of boots just outside the door made her gasp awake. She shook her head to clear the haziness from her brain as the door hissed open. Abby was standing in front of it, fists clenched, so she could not immediately see who was there, but she recognized the low rumble of Bellamy's voice.

“We don't have much time,” he said as Abby ushered him inside. “Pike is on his way, and he wants to talk to her.” He nodded in Lexa's direction.

“Tell him she's not well enough to be interrogated,” Abby hissed, but Bellamy shook his head.

“That won't stop him. He’s trying to assess the situation and decide what to do. He’s already been to Clarke—“

“Jesus, is she all right?” Abby cried, and Lexa had to suppress her own desperate inquiry.

“She’s fine, for now,” Bellamy said, darting a glance at Lexa, “but once Pike makes up his mind I don’t know how long that’ll last. I just came to warn you, and to give you these.” He pressed something into Abby's hand, but the older alpha's fist curled around them too fast for Lexa to see. “Don’t let him find out you have them, or he’ll know that somebody in the guard is a double agent. And given how much suspicion I’m already under, he'll come straight to me.”

Abby nodded, hustling him out of the room. “Go. Be safe. And if you can, tell Clarke I…” She gave Lexa look that the alpha didn’t know how to read. “Tell Clarke  _ we  _ love her.”

Lexa heard the low thunder of more boots approaching as Bellamy darted from the room. She strained her ears trying to determine if he'd been apprehended, but then Abby hissed at her, “Lie back and act like you're asleep! When he gets here, pretend you're more out of it than you are.” Lexa only had time to give her a startled nod before the door to the medbay hissed open again. She threw herself back against her pillows and shut her eyes, letting her face fall slack and praying it would be enough.

“Dr. Griffin.”

“Chancellor Pike.”

The exchange was low and tense, and Lexa struggled to keep herself from visibly straining to hear it better. She also had to force her lip not to curl in a snarl as Pike stepped further into the room, filling it obnoxiously with his alpha smell.

“I'm here for the prisoner,” Pike said, in a voice that rang with quiet authority. Lexa recognized it as the voice of someone who was well-accustomed to power, and who wielded it with subtlety and skill. A chill ran through her body. Clearly, Pike was no mere blustering strongman. The thought came to her with the clarity that she'd learned to associate with the Spirit, although she couldn’t say for certain whether it was or not:

_ Be careful; this one is dangerous. _

“She’s not going anywhere,” Abby snapped. “She only regained consciousness recently and still has just moments of lucidity. She's also still too weak to leave bed. She needs another day of treatment and rest at the very least before you can even think about moving her.”

There was a long pause, one in which Lexa guessed that Pike must be considering Abby's words. She badly wanted to turn her head and look, but she forced herself to focus on keeping her breathing slow and even.

“I'll just talk to her here, then,” Pike said. “Wake her up.”

“She needs her rest—”

“Wake her up, Abby, or I will.”

Clarke's mother let out a snarl, but Lexa heard her footsteps approaching. When it reached her nose, Abby's scent was thick with tension.

“Lexa,” she said, shaking her shoulder gently. “Lexa, you need to wake up.”

Lexa did her best impression of waking up from a deep sleep, blinking slowly at Abby and acting as though the lights hurt her eyes. “What…?”

“Chancellor Pike is here to speak with you,” Abby said, a warning glint in her eye. “I need you to tell me if you start feeling any pain or fatigue, though. You shouldn’t be exerting yourself too much.”

Lexa frowned, as though churning slowly through the words, but eventually nodded. Abby returned the gesture before retreating, perching herself on a nearby chair and picking up a book that Lexa sincerely doubted she had any intention of reading.

As Pike advanced, Lexa made a show of struggling to make her eyes focus on him. He stood at the side of her bed, arms folded, continuing to pump out absurd amounts of cloying alpha pheromones, and she reflected that it was a good thing she was restrained. Separate and apart from his mass murder of hundreds of her people, she might have liked to hit him simply for the obnoxiousness of his scent.

At last, however, she fixed her eyes on him, doing her best to project muddled wariness. Pike's expression was unreadable as he observed her, and the wall of alpha smell served to obscure anything else he might be feeling. She worked to keep her own scent calm and muted, just as an alpha who knew themselves to be in the territory of a stronger alpha might. It galled her—there was a part of her that wanted to roar that as Commander of the Thirteen Clans and Alpha of All Packs, she was owed submission in any territory—but her injury, and the cuffs around her wrists, begged to differ.

“So, you're the Commander,” Pike said at last. Lexa wasn’t sure how to reply; his tone gave nothing away. She settled on simply nodding.

“You're very young to be leading so many people,” he said, tilting his head just a bit.

“So is Clarke,” Lexa said, before she could help herself. Behind Pike, she saw Abby drop her head into her hands.

Pike's gaze darkened almost imperceptibly, but his smell grew even stronger. “Clarke isn’t the leader here,” he said tightly. “The people of Arkadia elected me to protect them…from people like you.”

“As you can see, I'm not exactly a threat,” Lexa said levelly, raising her wrists until the chains clinked. But Pike didn’t take the bait.

“You’ll be a threat until you draw your last breath,” he said. “All of you will…but especially you.” His voice was still soft, and his tone hadn’t changed much at all, but a threatening air seemed to fill the room like an impending storm. Lexa felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickling, and again found it a challenge not to snarl.

“That’s what I’m interested in, actually,” Pike said, clasping his hands behind his back and beginning to pace. “How old are you, anyway? Eighteen, nineteen…?”

His tone was so conversational that they might have been discussing the weather. Somehow, that galled her even more. “Twenty,” Lexa said, as evenly as she could manage. “Just this winter.”

Pike nodded, absorbing the information. “Just twenty, huh? And how long have you been Commander?”

What was the  _ jokken  _ point of these questions? she wanted to shout at him. But as long as he was asking her stupid things like this, Clarke still had time to plan. “Since I was sixteen,” she said.

Pike squinted at her, as though trying to determine whether or not she was lying. She returned his gaze as levelly as she could, carefully keeping any facet of challenge from her features. He was looking for information, but also a fight. She needed to take care not to give him one.

“So are you their, I don’t know, ultimate ruler, or just their warlord?” he asked.

Lexa felt her hands curl into fists at his dismissive tone— _ are you the tyrant of the savages, or just their warmonger?— _ but she forced her voice to stay calm as she replied, “I am the Commander of my people in both peace and war.”

“So when your people attacked my station the moment we hit the ground, that was on your order too.”

Lexa shook her head. “That was  _ Azgeda.  _ They’re…different.”

Pike slammed his hand down on the table beside her bed, startling her, but when he spoke his voice was tense but soft. “In Arkadia, we speak English, Commander.”

If her hands had been free, she would have throttled him. Never mind that his people were technically settled on  _ Trikru  _ lands, by her good graces and Indra's—his condescending tone was too much to bear. But she knew how to play this game. Instead of leaping at him, she shrank back, widening her eyes as though he had succeeded in intimidating her, and gave him a minute nod.

“That’s the Ice Nation, right? Aren’t they part of your Coalition as well?”

“Yes.”

“So they follow your orders without question too.”

Lexa almost wanted to laugh. She thought about trying to explain the situation to him, but the look in his eyes told her it would be pointless. He believed that he already knew everything he needed to know; his questions were only seeking confirmation. “That was the oath they took when they joined my Coalition,” she settled on saying. “Their queen broke that oath.”

Pike nodded, but didn’t seem interested in the details. He instead seemed to be building to something. “So when your warriors attacked our children…”

“You’ve seen the world we live in,” Lexa said, fighting to keep her voice steady. “Your children burned one of our villages to the ground. They were a threat. And my duty is to keep my people safe.”

For the first time, Pike turned to look at her fully, his expression unreadable. “That’s what I’m trying to do here too.”

After a long moment, he resumed his pacing, executing crisp, military turns in the tight space. “So how does it work, becoming Commander?” he asked abruptly, only looking at her in glances. “Was your sire the Commander before you, or were you elected, or…?”

“I was chosen by the Spirit of the Commander upon my predecessor's death,” she said carefully, narrowing her eyes at him. What was he playing at?

Pike turned on his heel to face her fully. “So the same thing will happen when you die.”

Panic shot through her as she remembered that no, it wouldn’t—she still carried the Flame within her, and none of her  _ Natblida  _ could truly Ascend to take her place without its guidance. If Pike killed her, her people would have no choice but to wage war to retrieve it. Even then, succession was no sure thing, depending on what they did with her body. If her Spirit was destroyed, there could be no true Commander, and her people would be cast into darkness…

Pike's eyebrows rose, and she realized that evidence of her worry must be showing on her face. She forced herself to breathe slow and deep, willing herself to calm down. But it wasn’t enough. “That’s a big deal to you people, huh,” he mused, rubbing his chin. “This Spirit thing. Big enough for your army to assault Arkadia?”

Lexa frowned, affecting confusion even as her mind churned. “I don’t know,” she said slowly.

“What are their orders?” he asked, louder, and she was keen enough to flinch.

“I don’t know,” she said, letting her eyes widen just a bit even as her confidence grew. “They were supposed to just blockade you, to make sure you didn’t attack any more villages, but now…”

“Who's leading them?” Pike barked, and she drew back, eyes growing wider still. She could see satisfaction reflected in his own as he stared at her, and privately she thought,  _ Good. Let him see the scared little girl… He won't be the first that’s fooled. _

“I don’t know!” she shouted, letting her voice crack on the last syllable before slumping back against the pillows, breathing harder than she needed to. “It was supposed to be me… One of my generals, maybe…”

Pike opened his mouth to continue the onslaught, but Abby was there to head him off. “That’s enough!” she growled at him, putting herself between him and Lexa's bed. “I told you not to tire her out. Now she needs to rest. Get out, all of you.”

Pike didn’t look happy about it, but he wasn’t stupid enough to disobey a  _ fisa  _ in her domain. 

“I’m not done with her,” he told Abby, even as he let her herd him and his guards to the door. 

“The minute she’s rested enough to continue, you let me know.”

“It’ll be a while,” Clarke's mother snapped, “given how much you've taxed her today. Now don’t you have dissidents to torture or something?”

“If I didn’t know better, I might wonder just whose side you're on, Abby,” Pike said softly, before shutting the door.

As soon as he was gone, Abby let out a huff. “God, I hate him.”

“I can certainly see why,” Lexa said, smirking a bit at Abby's short bark of laughter. But the mirth was soon gone as Clarke's mother hurried back to her bedside.

“I know you were pretending, but how are you actually feeling?” she asked, peering at the monitors by the headboard.

“I’m fine,” Lexa said, even though her stomach was still churning. “I learned more from him than he did from me.”

Abby frowned at her. “What do you mean?”

“He’s growing impatient. He wants to kill me, but he knows he has to do it at the right time for maximum effect,” Lexa told her, feeling a certain amount of perverse satisfaction when Abby’s eyes widened. “He’s hoping that by executing me, it will both demoralize my army and provoke them into an all-out attack.”

Abby gaped at her. “Why would he do that? Is he insane?”

Lexa shrugged. “You know him better than I do. But if I had to guess, he’s planning some kind of trap.”

Clarke’s mother let out a long, slow breath, looking her hands. Lexa could still feel the tension humming through her body, and wished she could get up, pace, do  _ something  _ other than lie in this bed. But then Abby raised her head and studied her seriously.

“So whatever we’re going to do, we need to do it soon.” Lexa nodded, and Abby sighed. “Well, I’ll have to get the message to Clarke somehow. Bellamy, probably.” Lexa couldn’t stop herself from making a face at his name, and Abby snorted. “Trust me, I feel the same way. But he did manage to make himself somewhat useful.”

“How?” Lexa asked dubiously. In answer, Abby reached in her pocket and dropped a set of small, shiny keys on the blanket next to Lexa’s left hand.

Lexa’s eyes went wide. “Is that…?”

Abby nodded, smiling tight and fierce. As Lexa tucked the keys to her freedom into her palm, she felt herself returning it. It wasn’t much, but it seemed like something was finally going right.

“You know, I have to say I’m impressed,” Clarke's mother said, startling Lexa. “Not many alphas could have put on a performance like that, especially not one as young as you.” Abby's grudging tone was about the only thing expected about her words. Lexa found herself at a total loss for how to respond.

“Well, I'm not most alphas,” she said at last, settling on the truth—she had received extensive training in controlling her instincts, after all.

Abby raised an eyebrow at her. “Apparently so. I suppose…well, I guess I'm beginning to understand what my daughter sees in you.”

Lexa's eyes went wide.  _ Was that…a compliment? _

Abby seemed to read her expression. “Don’t let it go to your head, Commander,” she said, the lightly mocking emphasis on her title serving to both comfort her that she hadn’t offended the older woman and to reestablish their habitual dynamic. “Now, let me show you how to unlock these cuffs without anybody noticing.”

***

Clarke’s impatience and agitation had only grown since Bellamy's visit to her cell. Octavia had made this big damn fuss about how she was the only one who could begin to fix the mess Pike had made of Arkadia, to heal the wounds he had dealt, but how was she supposed to do it sitting in a jail cell, cut off from her friends, her people…and, worst of all, her mate.

She knew Lexa was alive, but the last time she'd seen the alpha it had been hard to believe she'd stay that way. As hard as she tried to supplant it with images of Lexa bright-eyed and passionate on the afternoon before they'd been set to part, the picture that most commonly rose to Clarke's mind was of her mate's pale, still face, her lifeless body lying on a wooden plank in the dirt.

A minute didn’t go by without her yearning for Lexa, for the comfort of her mate's scent and the warmth of her arms, but also for the keen acuity of her mind, her startling wisdom, and her indomitable courage in the face of almost-certain death. Even before she and Lexa had become lovers, she'd been grudgingly impressed by the alpha’s cool-headed cunning and tactical brilliance. She missed Lexa, not just the mate and companion that she'd come to be, but also as Clarke's confidante and defender and friend.

_ Lexa… _

Clarke dug her fingers into her palms as she paced, face twisted into a grimace. It didn’t help that while Bellamy appeared to have escaped punishment for being caught in her cell, Pike had tightened security on her prison even further. There were two guards on her at all times, with a third making rounds every fifteen minutes. There were no longer any other Delinquents on the door except Bellamy, but he was always watched. While Clarke was sure that must be taking a toll on Pike's loyalists, something that could potentially be used in the future, she didn’t have any opportunity to find out. The only news from outside that she got was scratched out in minute handwriting on tiny scraps of paper that were concealed in increasingly creative ways—under her cup or a baked potato on her food tray, once even curled up in the hollow of a yolkless soft-boiled egg. She remembered—wasn’t Harper on kitchen duty or something?—and it made her feel a little bit warmer to see the innovative methods her friends concocted to reach her, but they barely made a dent in the aching loneliness of her isolation.

It was also a maddeningly inefficient way to communicate. Each time she left her response in the form of a carefully concealed scrap of paper torn from her notebook on the tray, she quivered with fear that  _ this  _ would be the one Pike's forces discovered, that this time more of her friends would get hurt or even killed because of her. It had been working so far, but it all hinged upon Bellamy’s ability to deliver the tiny notes without attracting suspicion, and to recover any that she left.

And then there was the matter of those notes themselves. They were literally bite-sized updates on what was happening within the Ark, nothing to do with the mysterious plot being set in motion that Bellamy had referenced during his visit. It made sense, of course. If he was caught passing news, he'd probably be punished, but if he was caught with plans to undermine Pike's authority, it would all be over. But it was still infuriating for Clarke, to be reduced to hearing about this stuff without being able to do anything about it.

How was she supposed to plan  _ anything  _ in conditions like this, let alone a rebellion?

There were tiny, positive signs, cracks in the foundations of Pike’s rule, from which she'd been able to glean something of her friends' designs. It seemed like Bellamy and Raven had managed to gather a trusted group of Delinquents to begin laying the foundations of the rebellion. That manifested itself in numerous small ways: rumblings of discontent in the food line as rations were tightened yet again; outspoken questions of the wisdom of Pike's methods of protecting them, if not his outright leadership; ordinary citizens standing up to guards as they bullied and swaggered their way around Arkadia.

But the army remained outside, a constant looming presence pressing on Clarke's mind, and she knew that neither the patience of Lexa's generals, nor Pike's, would hold out indefinitely. She also knew that Pike had to be planning something, which would most likely not end well for Lexa or for her. He'd never be content to just sit in Arkadia's walls and let his people starve through a siege. It was likely to be a sudden, grand stroke, much like his attack on the  _ Trikru  _ army—but with Bellamy effectively pushed out of Pike's inner circle, she didn’t have much more than conjecture.

The situation was untenable, both because Arkadia was a powder keg and because Clarke was seriously worried at this point that she was going to fucking explode if she didn’t do  _ something.  _ That something, it turned out, came to her courtesy of Octavia.

The door burst open unexpectedly as she was perched on her bed, fighting with herself for the hundredth time over whether or not she could spare a piece of paper so she could draw, and save her sanity. Clarke looked up in alarm, fumbling to shove the notebook under the covers, only to see Bellamy storming in. She frowned; it wasn’t nearly close to dinnertime, she could only have had lunch two hours ago, so what was he—

“Did you put her up to this?” Bellamy snarled, grabbing her by the arms and hauling her up roughly.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Clarke demanded, attempting to shove him back, but he just shook her.

_ “This!”  _ he shouted, pointing at his eye. Clarke had been so caught up in the incongruity of his being here that she hadn't noticed the truly impressive bruise that had blossomed across his eye.

“I don’t know who did that, but remind me to thank them,” Clarke spat, suddenly aware of the other guards standing in the doorway, watching them closely. She wasn’t sure what Bellamy thought he was doing, or how he'd managed to get in here when it wasn’t even his turn at guard, but they needed to be mindful of their audience. She shot him a brief warning look and realized that he was doing something weird with his eyebrows, wiggling them, or trying to. It seemed that his new shiner was a little too painful to allow him to move his face that much without wincing. She tried very hard not to find that as funny as she did.

“It was Octavia!” he said, shaking her a bit more—though not hard. “I was trying to just talk to her, to convince her that if she cooperated he might not try her for treason, but she fucking _hit_ me and ran away! And now she’s been declared a fucking _fugitive!”_

Everything snapped into place. Bellamy and Octavia must have engineered an escape that would look like she’d overpowered him and gotten away, because he’d learned that Pike was planning on prosecuting her for treason. The bottom dropped out of Clarke’s stomach. There was no way Octavia would have gotten a fair trial. She was already an outsider in Arkadia because of the circumstances of her birth, and because of her Grounder mate and sympathies. Pike was probably looking for an opportunity to make an example of someone, and right now Octavia was the easiest target.

“I didn’t put her up to anything,” Clarke growled, struggling to get out of his grip, but he held her firm. “How the fuck could I have done it? I’ve been in here!”

A plan was taking shape in her mind. This might just have been his way of informing her that Octavia had escaped, and that she was now available to run sabotage ops, but she could use this opportunity for something more. She was done just sitting and waiting for things to happen—it was time to make them happen herself. And she had an idea for just how to do that.

_ Guess it’s time to announce my pregnancy. _

“Shove me at the bed,” Clarke muttered. “Just hard enough to make it look real.”

Bellamy frowned. “What? Why?”

“Blake, that’s enough,” called one of the other guards. “We’re gonna catch hell as it is for letting you in here.”

“I’m not done getting this bitch to talk, Stross, okay?” Bellamy said over his shoulder, before turning back to her questioningly.

Clarke widened her eyes at him, praying for him to either be less dense or just fucking trust her for once. “Just do it, okay?”

“But Clarke—”

“Blake, now!”

Cursing under his breath, Bellamy gave her a gentle push in the direction of her cot. She exaggerated the force of the movement, letting herself fall against the bed and only just barely catch herself on her arms. She let the cold metal edge press lightly against her stomach before crying out sharply, squeezing her eyes shut in a pantomime of pain and summoning mock tears.

“Blake, what the hell?”

The guards were rushing into the room even as Bellamy hurried to her side.

“She’s faking, I didn’t even push her that hard. Come on, Clarke, get the fuck up!”

Clarke opened her eyes, pleased with the watery sight that greeted her—Bellamy and the other guards staring at her, faces caught between suspicion and alarm. “I can’t, it might— _ fuck!”  _ She clenched her eyes shut again, this time wrapping an arm around her stomach. “Oh, god…”

“What are you talking about, Clarke? What’s wrong?” Bellamy’s hands were on her shoulders, and his eyes were filled with real concern when she met them again. She had to curtail the urge to roll her own. Either he was playing impressively stupid, or he really was this dense. Her money was on the latter.

_ “My pups!”  _ she shouted, glaring at him in fear and anger and pain. “You must have done something to hurt them—” She let her voice trail off again into a louder groan.

“What did you do?” one of the guards was demanding, even as she heard the other clattering into the hall, shouting for a medic.

“I don’t know, she just fell and started screaming like that—wait,  _ pups?  _ Clarke, what are you—”

“I’m fucking pregnant, idiot!” she growled, letting her actual frustration color her tone. “I need to get to medical now or I’m gonna lose— _ argh!” _

This time, she screamed, doubling over, both hands wrapped around her waist. Clearly the other guards had bought it, even if Bellamy was still a few steps behind. But he appeared to be catching up.

“Shit, Bellamy, what are we supposed to do? Pike said she wasn’t supposed to—”

“I know what Pike said!” he snapped. “But if she dies because of this, we’re all screwed!” And then he was gathering her into his arms, hoisting her against his chest with a grunt. Even as Clarke closed her eyes and wailed even louder, she was internally fist-pumping.

_Now_ _he gets it. Jesus, took him long enough._

Against the other guard’s tremulous objections, Bellamy carried her swiftly out of her cell and towards a door. When he kicked it open, she had to squeeze her eyes shut for real – the daylight after so long indoors was blinding, even through a scrim of clouds. After the first stab of pain, though, she forced herself to open her lids just a crack. When she’d first arrived at Arkadia she’d been so focused on making sure that Lexa was safe that she hadn’t paid much attention to her surroundings, and she didn’t want to miss the opportunity to better scope out the compound.

The prison building where she was housed had once been connected to the main body of the Ark, but Clarke reasoned that it must have been sheared off in the course of some construction project to make room for the wide thoroughfare that curved through the center of the compound. She’d at first wanted to call it a village, or even a town, but with the sheer amount of weaponry she’d seen clutched in white-knuckled hands, it was hard to think of it as anything but a military base. They didn’t spend much time outside before Bellamy was ducking into the dimness of the grounded space station, but she took in as many gulps of fresh air as she could manage, under the guise of heaving sobs.

She could hear commotion around her, sounds of alarm and outrage as people poked their heads out of rooms and saw who Bellamy was carrying, but to her relief he just kept going. Soon they were heading down the familiar corridor that she knew led to her mother’s domain: the medbay. As soon as he saw it, Bellamy made a beeline for the door, but was brought up short by none other than Pike, flanked by a cadre of guards.

“Bellamy, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Pike’s voice was soft, but it vibrated with rage. Clarke felt Bellamy’s arms shake just a bit, and had to struggle not to betray her alarm that he might drop her.

“She needs medical attention now, sir!” Bellamy said hoarsely, as though all the moisture had suddenly left his mouth.

“And why couldn’t she have gotten that attention in her cell? I gave you explicit orders that she was not to leave!” Clarke risked a glance at Pike under her eyelids, and saw him shaking his head. “I’m having a seriously difficult time trusting you with anything when you keep going off the reservation like this, son.”

Panic was pounding in Clarke’s chest. Bellamy was going to blow it right here and now. She needed to do something!

“Sir, I—”

Clarke opened her mouth and drowned out whatever Bellamy’s lame-ass excuse was going to be with a blood-curdling scream.

“What the hell is wrong with her?” Pike demanded, but Clarke’s gambit had worked: Abby came sprinting out of the medbay, fear and fury flashing in her eyes.

“What happened?” she demanded, and all of a sudden Clarke was being yanked out of Bellamy’s arms and into her mother’s. Abby’s warm, comforting smell surrounded her and she couldn’t help relaxing, but only for a moment. She wrapped her arms tighter around her stomach and let out another yell.

“She fell, and I think she—she said something about being—”

_ Oh Christ,  _ Clarke thought, groaning internally before she sobbed, “Mom, I hit the edge of the bed and I felt something—my stomach really hurts, and I’m worried about the pups—”

“Clarke, honey, it’s gonna be all right,” Abby said, already pushing past Pike and into the harsh light of the medbay. Despite its cool, antiseptic smell, Clarke’s nose caught the barest hint of a wonderfully familiar scent, and it was a trial not to open her eyes and look around for the one person she wanted to see more than anything in the world.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Abby repeated soothingly, before gently depositing her on a bed. Then her voice was back to the commanding bark she used when she was attempting to save someone’s life. “You need to get out of here! This is a medical environment and I need privacy and space to work! Now go!”

Clarke was sure that her mother most likely had realized at this point that Clarke’s pain was a ruse, but she was convincingly playing both the concerned doctor and the frantic mother to the hilt. Pike tried to protest, tried to convince Abby that he should be allowed to remain in the room, but Dr. Griffin had always been the strongest alpha in her own medbay. With a combination of alpha pheromones and sheer bustle, she managed to force him out of the room, but not before cuffing Clarke’s wrist to the bed. That was fine; she could deal with that, she thought. Right now her mind was focused solely on the occupant of the bed next to hers.

_ Lexa! _

She couldn’t help it—she had to look. Under the guise of excruciating pain, Clarke shifted onto her side, doubling over and clutching her stomach. Knowing that Pike wouldn’t be able to see where she was looking from his position by the door, she cracked open her eyelids just a bit and locked eyes with her mate for the first time since they’d fallen shut after Titus’s bullet.


	28. this is why (why we fight)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter. I had some bad news so I'm gonna need to concentrate a lot on finding a job that makes me money and I might have to concentrate a little bit less on writing, but I'm going to do my best to keep updating this fic weekly. We're so close to being finished and I really want to share what happens to everyone with you guys. I'm just asking for your patience and continued kindness as I try to get my life in order.
> 
> Thanks in advance,
> 
> Cal

When Clarke was brought in, sobbing in agony and clutching her stomach, the only thing that stopped Lexa from vaulting out of bed and blowing their cover wide open was the fact that she had not yet mastered the trick of unlocking her cuffs one-handed. She let out a frantic snarl, every cell in her body aching to be with her mate, to comfort her in her distress, to protect her from harm…

But her futile struggling ceased abruptly as she remembered they had an audience. A quick glance told her that Pike's attention was focused on Abby, who was forcing him out of her domain, largely by sheer force of will. He only had time to cuff one of Clarke's hands to the side of her bed before Abby had herded him and his guards out of the room and slammed the doors shut behind them.

The moment the medbay's doors had closed, however, Lexa vaulted up and out of her bed and hurried over to Clarke. Her muscles burned with sudden use but she ignored them. The only thing she could think of was getting to her mate.

The moment Clarke sat up, Lexa pulled her into her arms, breathing her scent in deep. The feeling of Clarke's body pressed against her own, warm and alive, her chest moving with breath against Lexa's and her free arm wrapping around Lexa's neck and drawing her closer, was the most perfect sensation Lexa could remember feeling. There were tears in her voice as she whispered Clarke's name into her hair, and there were tears in Clarke's as she replied, “Oh god, Lexa… I never thought I’d see you again…”

Lexa pulled back just enough to gaze wonderingly into Clarke's shimmering blue eyes. She was barely conscious of the smile tugging at her lips as she said, “Well…you told my spirit to stay where it is.”

Clarke made a sound that could have been either a laugh or a sob and tugged her close once more. Lexa could feel her mate's chest hitching against her own and tightened her arms in answer.

But as much as she could have stayed holding Clarke, reveling in how warm and alive and  _ here  _ she was, she had to know.  _ “Niron,”  _ she whispered, “are you all right? Are the pups…”

Now Clarke really did laugh, albeit with tears still caught in her throat. “I’m fine, Lexa, and so are they. It was just a ruse to get me out of my cell and…here with you.”

Lexa only had time for one more glimpse of blue before her Sky girl's lips were pressed against hers, firm and warm and fierce. She met Clarke's fire with her own, tongue sliding along the seam of the omega’s lips and coaxing them open with a gasp. She slipped her tongue into Clarke's mouth, relearning how she tasted and felt, and reflexively tugged her mate even closer. She wanted to be as near to Clarke as possible, so close that she could never again be parted from her mate, her love, the mother of her pups…

_ “Ahem.” _

The sound of a clearing throat abruptly reminded Lexa that she and Clarke were not, in fact, alone. Heat blazed up in her cheeks, and as she reluctantly pulled away she saw an answering flush coloring Clarke's face. It was easy to forget, sometimes, that there were other people in the world besides Clarke, to get wrapped up in a cosmos that was made for them and them alone. Still, even as she turned to face Abby, she could not quite bring herself to let go of Clarke's hand.

Abby's arms were crossed, and her expression seemed caught somewhere between warm, dry, and mildly nauseated. “Now that you two have remembered that you're not the only ones in the room…” She pointed at Lexa. “You get back in bed. That was much more physical activity than you're cleared for and if you've busted a stitch, you'll be sorry.” Her tone heavily implied that it was not so much the pain that would make Lexa sorry, but Abby herself.

Lexa was about to protest that she felt fine, and that she wasn’t leaving her mate's side, but when a wave of dizziness swept over her, she was forced to admit that Abby might have a point. She gave Clarke a miserable look, torn between not wanting to move and the fact that her knees were threatening to give out, and found the omega's eyes full of sympathy.

“It’s okay, Lexa,” Clarke said, a bit hoarsely. “I’m not going anywhere…literally.” She held up her bound wrist with a wry quirk of her mouth.

“Oh!” Lexa staggered over to her own bed and fumbled the keys out of her open cuffs, tossing them over to Clarke. The omega caught them and freed herself with a pleased noise, and then darted over to Lexa's bed, where the alpha reclined reluctantly. She opened her arms to receive her mate, a smile pulling at her lips, but Abby's voice cracked across the medbay like a whip.

“Oh, I’m not done with you either. You might have been faking fetal distress, but that doesn’t mean I'm not still going to give you an ultrasound.” Clarke growled, but Abby was already wheeling over a cart that held a screen and odd machinery.

“I promise you won't die if you let go of each other for five minutes,” she told them tartly, nodding at Lexa's arm where it was curled around Clarke's waist. The omega let out a huff, but when she made to stand, Lexa reluctantly let her.

“It won’t take long,” Clarke said, giving her an apologetic look as she seated herself on the other bed next to the cart. “And it's actually kind of cool.”

Lexa frowned at her, trying to ignore the way her body yearned to be pressed against Clarke's. “What do you mean?”

Clarke's eyes seemed to soften, and she reached across the gap to touch Lexa's hand. “We’re gonna get to see the pups, Lexa.”

The alpha stared at her in amazement. If she hadn’t spent nearly a week in the medbay, learning firsthand the power of  _ Skaikru  _ medicine, she would have called it impossible. But then again, she had known for a while that very little was impossible for Clarke Griffin.

“Lie back and pull up your shirt,” Abby told her daughter, and Clarke sighingly obeyed. The gentle curve of her stomach, hidden by Geib's clever tailoring, was revealed to Lexa's greedy eyes, and she drank in the evidence of her pups' growth for as long as she could – until Abby swiveled her chair in the way, holding a bottle filled with light blue gel. Lexa wanted to growl, but she remembered that Clarke had told her that she was about to see their children – how, she wasn’t entirely sure – and subsided, keeping the rumbling trapped in her chest.

Clarke's fingers curled a bit tighter around her own as Abby squirted a bit of the gel onto the omega's stomach. Lexa looked up at her in alarm – “Does it hurt?”

“No,” Clarke said, giving her a shaky smile. “It’s just cold.” Despite her calm words, Lexa realized that her mate was shivering a bit. She squeezed Clarke's hand, hoping to give her what comfort she could.

Abby spread the gel across Clarke's belly in an even coat before reaching for an odd device connected to the machine by a cord. “That’s the transducer,” Clarke told Lexa, and then she sucked in a breath as her mother pressed the device gently to her stomach.

The screen had been dark, but as Abby slowly slid the transducer through the gel on Clarke's belly, it came alive with grainy, black and white patterns. At first there was nothing recognizable about them, but after only a few moments, Lexa realized that they were beginning to form a semi-distinct image. She had the impression of a cavernous darkness, but as Abby moved the device slightly lower…

_ “Keryon,”  _ she whispered, eyes wide and voice trembling with awe. “That's…”

“A head,” Abby murmured, her own voice somewhat less steady than usual. “And there's a hand…another head…” She continued to slowly move the transducer, revealing inch by inch the treasure that Clarke was carrying within her. “And there's the third.” Her voice was audibly shaky as she told them, “Those are your pups.”

Lexa's felt herself being filled up with emotions she couldn’t quite name, or perhaps she was simply unused to feeling them in such vast quantities. Love, pride, protectiveness, fear, eagerness, hope… Her chest was swelling with all of them, so tightly she thought she was going to burst.

_ Our pups… I'm looking at our pups.  _ Gazing into their tiny, sleeping faces, she felt a powerful love come to life within her. It was not that she hadn’t loved them before, but they had been something of an abstraction – their arrival was still months away, and there were so many dangers and trials to face before then, and for a very long while she'd thought that she would never get to see them. But now… Now, she was assured. Just as she loved their mother with all of her fierce and undying spirit, she would do literally anything in the world to protect these slumbering children of hers. She found herself gripping Clarke's hand tighter and tighter, but the omega didn’t seem to mind – she returned Lexa's grasp with equal strength. Tears trickled down her cheeks, and her chest shook with quiet sobs.

Abby continued to move the transducer around, muttering to herself in a watery voice as she checked for fingers and toes and developing limbs, but eventually she seemed to be satisfied. “All right,” she said roughly, “everything looks to be in order. I'll need to take some blood to be certain, but as far as I can tell, your pups are growing strong and healthy. No thanks to your recent activities,” she said, giving Clarke and Lexa a glare that held very little heat. “Just…try to keep from doing anything too stressful from now on?”

Clarke let out a watery chuckle. “You got it, Mom…no saving the world until your grandkids are born.”

Abby snorted, cleaning off first the transducer and then Clarke's stomach with a cloth. “Doctor’s orders.”

Lexa found herself longing to let her mate know how she felt about the incredible miracle of the lives growing in her belly, but she was too overcome by her feelings to find the words. Clarke had been sheltering these tiny sleeping things, protecting them as they slumbered, and for three months on her own at that… Lexa clenched her fist. She might have missed the first third of Clarke's pregnancy, but she was going to be here for the rest of it. Doing whatever her mate required to keep her comfortable, healthy, safe.

But her resolution paled in front of the danger they all faced. Lexa let out a harsh breath, the weakness in her fist where it gripped the bedsheets all the more apparent to her because of how much she needed it to be strength. How was she supposed to protect Clarke and their pups if she could barely lift a hand to comfort her mate?

Clarke's fingers tightened around her other hand, and Lexa found herself looking up into her Sky girl's eyes. They were redolent with love, affection, understanding… Lexa abruptly found her temples throbbing with tears again, and she wanted to turn away until she got control of herself once more, until hope and fear and frustration stopped waging such a terrible war within her. But she forced herself to hold Clarke's gaze, to let her mate see everything. To let herself be seen.

_ I will always be with you,  _ she thought at Clarke fiercely,  _ until death and beyond. I will never abandon you again. I swear to protect you and our children —our family—with everything that I am.  _ She couldn’t get the words out. Her throat was still too thick, clogged with unshed tears. But something in the omega's eyes told her that Clarke heard her anyway.

***

As her mother wheeled away the ultrasound cart, Clarke took the opportunity to wipe away the last few tears still lingering at the corners of her eyes. She had the feeling that Abby was doing the same, but when the older alpha returned, she was all business. “I’m going to have to lock both of you up in case Pike comes in again. Which I have no doubt he will—or at least he'll try and get a guard in here. And so that  _ you,”  _ she said, pointing at Lexa, “don’t try any more of that getting up and running around nonsense.”

Clarke could have sworn she saw Lexa actually flinch, but she was too preoccupied with the problem her mom had presented. How was she supposed to keep Pike's attention away from the place where his two highest-priority prisoners were being held long enough to plan a rebellion?

Clarke wasn’t given long to brood over the issue, however. Seemingly having decided that both of them had experienced more than enough excitement for the day, Abby finished locking their cuffs and ordered them both to sleep. Both Lexa and Clarke protested that there was no way they were going to be able to sleep, they had way too much to plan, but her mother just raised her eyebrows at her as if to say,  _ I’ve heard that before.  _ And it was true—for Lexa at least. The younger alpha must really have been far more exhausted than she was letting on, because only minutes after Abby turned out the lights, she was slumped against the pillows, breathing soft and slow.

Clarke watched her fondly, a curious sensation tingling in her chest. It took her a moment to recognize it for what it was: peace. A tremulous, fragile peace, to be sure, but right now, right here, she was lying beside her mate. Lexa was alive, Clarke was alive, and both of them were here, watched over by Abby. And someday not too far off, they would be joined by the pups currently slumbering within Clarke, waiting to be born.

She brought her unchained hand up to her belly and began rubbing in small circles, imagining their sleeping faces, their tiny hands and feet and ears. She closed her eyes for a moment to better imagine them, and didn’t open them again until she was being shaken gently awake by someone who was definitely not Abby. Clarke flailed in the dark, searching for anything she could use to beat back the danger, and connected solidly with someone's face.

“Jesus, Griffin! Calm down, it's just me!”

Clarke squinted through her sleep-blurred eyes. “Octavia?”

In the dimness, she thought she could discern a grin. “Damn right.”

Clarke sat up abruptly, only to be curtailed by the cuff around her wrist. “Dammit. Where's my mom?”

Octavia shrugged, perching herself on the edge of the bed. “Bathroom? Boning Kane? Who knows.”

Clarke stared at her, face twisted in revulsion. “What the fuck, Octavia? Why would you say something like th—”

“Um, because it's true? The walls are pretty thin here, Clarke, you should remember that.”

Clarke started to growl at her, but stopped herself. As revolting as she found the revelation, there were more important things to discuss. Such as, “What are you doing here, Octavia? Bellamy told me you were a fugitive.” She paused to allow herself a grin. “Nice work on the black eye, by the way.”

It was very dark in the medbay, but she was pretty sure Octavia was smirking. “Thanks. He deserved it. And yeah, I am technically a fugitive from Pike's ‘justice,’ but I also know Arkadia's maintenance passageways better than anybody here, except maybe Raven. She taught them to me, but…” Octavia spread her hands. “She's not really up to climbing around in the walls.”

Clarke swallowed hard. The reminder of what had happened to Raven saddened her, but it also reminded her of what she needed to do. “Listen, O, do you think you can get a message to Bellamy?”

Octavia shook her head. “Pike took him in for interrogation after he brought you here. He was able to signal me to get to you, but he's gonna be there for a while.” Clarke could see the conflicted worry on her face even in the darkened room, and reached for Octavia's hand.

“I’m sorry.”

The other omega shook her head again, like she was shooing away an inconvenient fly. “It's fine. He knew what he was getting himself into.”

Clarke gave her a sympathetic look, but it was clear from Octavia's demeanor that she was eager to change the subject.

“So, what's our next move?” Octavia asked, with false breeziness.

“Well,” Clarke said slowly, frowning, “you can’t get to Bellamy… But do you think you can get messages to the people who've been working with us?”

Octavia nodded, a fierce grin stretching across her face. “Yeah, I can. What do you want me to tell them?”

Despite the gravity of the situation, Clarke found herself matching the younger girl's expression. “That they should be here just before sunset for a planning meeting.”

Octavia's grin faltered as she said, “How’re we supposed to get everybody in here without Pike noticing, though?”

Clarke bit her lip. “Well, I was hoping you and Raven might be able to cook something up that would help with that. You’re pretty good at being sneaky…”

“And she's pretty good with loud booms.”

“Exactly,” Clarke said, feeling fierce excitement growing in her chest.  _ This can work. We're gonna make it work. _

“You got it, Griffin,” Octavia told her, getting up from the bed. “See you soon.”

“Be careful,” Clarke called after her, as loudly as she dared, but Octavia had already vanished.

Clarke's mind was humming with plans and hopes and worries, busily presenting her with every possible outcome of every possible scenario and challenging her to figure out just how each might be handled, and she figured there was no way she'd be able to fall asleep. But either worrying was incredibly hard work or she was a lot more exhausted than she realized, because the next time she woke up it was to a very loud boom.

The noise made her jump, but she recovered quickly. She’d been expecting it. Her mother, however, clearly hadn’t. “Oh my god, what—Clarke, are you okay? What’s going on?”

“It's fine, Mom,” Clarke said, giving her mother a smile—which soon turned into a suspicious look. “And where have you been, anyway? How long were you out of the medbay? I woke up and Octavia was here—that’ll be her and Raven's work, by the way—but you weren’t.”

Abby sighed. “I asked her to come and keep an eye on you. Pike was bringing me in for questioning, and I didn’t know how long I was gonna be. I'm guessing you talked…?”

“Oh yes,” Clarke said, struggling to continue looking stern. “She told me all kinds of interesting stuff. Like about you and Marcus Kane, for example.”

Clarke was treated to one of the rarest and most delicious sights she could ever remember seeing: her mother looking embarrassed. “How did you… I'm gonna kill Octavia,” Abby muttered, suddenly unable to meet Clarke's eyes.

“How long has this been going on?” Clarke asked, arching her eyebrow and attempting to fold her arms. She failed—the cuff clinked against the railing of her bed—but she just raised her eyebrow even higher to make up for it.

“Not long,” her mother said, a flush starting to creep up her neck. “After you…left…Marcus was very supportive, and we sort of…grew closer…” Abruptly, Abby seemed to remember that she was, in fact, the parent. “I don’t think this is particularly relevant to our current situation,” she started to say, drawing herself up, but stopped when she caught sight of Clarke grinning ear to ear. Abby rolled her eyes, and the laughter that Clarke had been holding back finally burst forth.

“Clarke?” came Lexa's voice, hoarse and groggy, from the dimness to her right.

“Oh, so you can sleep through an explosion but not Clarke's hyena impression?” Abby said tartly, before getting up and making for the light switch. Clarke just laughed harder.

“What…what’s going on?” Lexa asked blearily.

The confusion in her tone enabled Clarke to answer, “I'm just making fun of my mom, Lexa, it's fine.”

But in the dim light of the monitors and machinery, Clarke saw Abby shake her head. “Actually, it's not fine. None of the lights seem to be working. Whatever that explosion was knocked out the main power.”

Clarke felt her grin turning fierce. “Way to go, Raven!”

Abby let out an exasperated sigh, putting her hands on her hips. “Tell me what this is about, Clarke.  _ Now,  _ please.”

The elation flooding her system at the thought of her plans finally grinding into motion, of her interminable wait nearly being over, was entirely too delicious. Clarke stretched ostentatiously, yawning to conceal her exorbitant glee. When she had gotten control of herself, she took in her mother's confused, worried face and said, “That was the signal. Tonight, we're gonna plan our war.”

***

Lexa's head still felt thick and wooly from her sleep, or whatever was in the healing drugs Abby had given her, but as Clarke's words sizzled through the air like sparks, she found the fog clearing quickly. It appeared that Clarke's friend Raven had somehow orchestrated a demolition that shut down the main supply from which the Ark drew much of its power, including that which was necessary to turn on lights. Essential machinery, Clarke explained, such as that in the medbay, which could theoretically be keeping a patient alive, would be able to draw from a backup power source for a while. But more importantly, the explosion would have drawn Pike's attention for as long as it took to figure out how to fix the power. It would enable Clarke's friends to make their way here through the darkness undetected, and they could begin planning their rebellion.

Lexa accepted this explanation with little more than a nod. She wasn't able to see much of Clarke's face in the dimness, but she could smell her mate's concern. “Are you okay?” the omega asked quietly, reaching for Lexa's hand. She stretched out her own to take it, glad that Abby had freed her but hoping that skin contact would not, somehow, expose her lie.

“I’m fine,” she said, offering Clarke a small smile. “I'm just still a little groggy.” She thought she saw Clarke frown and open her mouth, but they were interrupted by the arrival of the first co-conspirator.

“Um…Clarke?” It was a boy's voice, quiet and tentative.

“I’m here, Monty,” Clarke said, her tone full of warmth, getting up from her bed to greet him with a hug. In the process, she of course had to drop Lexa's hand. Lexa swallowed hard, trying not to let that bother her.

There was a click, and then a bright light flared in her eyes, making her throw up a hand to cover them with a silent snarl. “Oops, shit—” The omega boy fumbled with the light source, pointing it up towards the ceiling where it could illuminate the room.

“Sorry, I didn’t know you were there,” he said, and it took Lexa a moment of blinking confusion to realize he was talking to her. “Um, I'm Monty.”

He held out his hand, and Lexa remembered that Sky people clasped hands to introduce themselves. She made to get up, the movement sending a dull pain rippling through her stiff, underused muscles, but Abby spoke up from the corner: “Nope, absolutely not. You still need your rest. If you're gonna be part of this meeting, you'll do it from bed.”

_ “Mom!”  _ Clarke protested, but privately Lexa was grateful. If she was going to have to get up for every single introduction, she might wind up embarrassingly exposing her frailty in a room filled with Clarke's friends.

Abby was adamant, but eventually Clarke managed to negotiate Lexa's transfer to the bed her mate had previously occupied. It would be closer to the space in the middle of the floor where the meeting was apparently to be held, and allow her to better attend the proceedings. She had not, in truth, been expecting her participation to be required, or even wanted, so she wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it, but then Clarke seated herself right by Lexa on the bed and pressed a kiss to the top of her hair. Abruptly, she was much more at peace with the development.

That sense of peace vanished quickly, as Monty's eyes went wide. “Wow,” he said, “so that's…you're really…”

“This is Lexa,” Clarke said, a little defensively. “The Commander. And also my mate.”

Hearing Clarke claim her this way, publicly, to one of her friends, Lexa felt her chest growing tight with a sensation much like a star was being born between her lungs.

Monty held up his hands. “Hey, I'm not judging,” he said. “I'm not one to judge. I'm—well, you'll see.”

Clarke grinned, and Lexa could feel some of the tension easing out of her where she was pressed against the alpha's arm. “Oh, so that thing with Miller…”

But Monty just shook his head. “You’ll see.”

“So where's Jasper?” Clarke said curiously. Monty's ordinarily cheerful face fell.

“He’s…not coming.”

Clarke frowned. “Is he with Pike's gang?”

“No, but…he’s not doing well.” Clarke squeezed his shoulder sympathetically, but it was clear he didn’t want to talk about it further and was grateful when she changed the subject.

As he and Clarke talked, exchanging small tidbits of information about the last few months (mostly about life in Arkadia—Clarke seemed to be hungry for news of her people's lives during her time away, making Lexa feel absurdly guilty), she saw Monty glancing in her direction every so often. They weren’t hostile, merely curious, but they made Lexa squirm anyway. Luckily, they didn’t have long to wait before the next few Delinquents began to trickle in, although that was something of a mixed blessing.

Now, instead of Monty's vaguely uncomfortable but largely harmless curiosity, Lexa was subjected to a wide range of scrutiny as Clarke's friends began to fill the medbay. She did her best to control her scent, both in order to appear non-threatening (although she doubted she could pose much of a threat, lying in her bed like a queen or an invalid) and to conceal her discomfort from Clarke. Most of the reunions were joyous, full of hugs and laughter and occasional tears, and she didn’t want Clarke's happiness tarnished by her awkwardness.

But it wasn’t just awkwardness, of course. She was no stranger to social situations. A large part of her job as  _ Heda  _ involved speaking with people in varying degrees of formality and informality. But in those situations, she always knew where she stood: head and shoulders above all personages in the room, no matter how august. It was not the lack of status that galled her, however, but the lack of place. She felt unmoored here, her connections to this tight-knit group tenuous, reliant upon only Clarke, who was also the person most sought out by everyone in the room.

Back in Polis, she’d had Clarke all to herself. But now, she had to share her with those who had much more history with her, much longer relationships, than Lexa could claim. Lexa might be her mate, but how could she hope to compete with people who had known Clarke since she was a child taking her first toddling steps, who had grown up at her side, shared jokes and games, first loves and heartbreaks?

No one knew Lexa like that, not anymore—it was something she had grown used to over time. She had never thought of herself as a lonely person. To be Commander was to be alone, after all, and she had grown up expecting it. But Clarke's easy friendships with these other people made her burn with jealousy and a totally inappropriate possessiveness. She knew it was inexcusable, but she found herself suddenly fighting off the impulse to snarl and pull Clarke close.

_ This is ridiculous,  _ she told herself.  _ These are Clarke's friends. You should be happy that she has so many willing to stand with her in this time of need, and happy to meet those dear to your mate.  _ But it wasn’t that simple, and so she found herself returning their words of introduction stiffly and awkwardly, even as she felt an increasingly urgent need to make a good impression. She caught Clarke casting several worried glances her way, but she tried to give her mate a reassuring smile each time, and Clarke was soon swept up again in reunions and gossip and friendly banter.

Two of the last arrivals caused a mild stir, giggling behind hands and excited whispering, although it didn’t seem mean-spirited. They were a pair of boys, beta and alpha, and after a moment of scrutiny Lexa noticed that their hands were linked. Clarke moved to greet them, a curious expression on her face, but to Lexa's surprise Monty beat her there, putting his arms around both of their waists in an unmistakably intimate gesture. Clarke's eyebrows rose.

“Hey, Miller,” she said, addressing the beta, “and…who's this?” The alpha stretched out his hand, opening his mouth to reply with a friendly smile on his face, but Monty spoke first.

“This is Miller's boyfriend Brian from Farm Station and he's my boyfriend too,” Monty said loudly. “They’re both my boyfriends.”

“Get over it, Monty,” someone shouted from the back. “You’ve already shocked everyone and nobody gives a shit anymore.” There was a general chorus of laughter and giggling, and a blush spread across Monty's cheeks, but the feeling in the room overall was affectionate. Lexa frowned, uncertain as to why this exchange might be taking place—although it was relatively rare for her people to take more than one mate, it was not unheard of, and certainly not forbidden—but she surmised that it must be somewhat taboo among Clarke's, if the look of defiance fading from Monty's face was any indication.

Clarke paused for a moment, as though taking in the tableau, and then swept the three of them into a hug. “I’m so happy for you,” Lexa heard her murmur to Monty, a big grin on her face, before stepping back. “And it's very nice to meet you,” she told Brian, holding out her hand. To her surprise, he pulled her into another hug.

“Monty and Nathan have told me so much about you, I feel like I know you already,” he said, and Clarke laughed.

After a few more minutes of milling about, it became clear that no one else was coming. As Clarke circulated through the room, Lexa noticed confusion mingled with hurt creeping over her face. At last, she asked Monty, “Is this everyone? I thought Harper…”

“Here! Sorry, sorry, sorry…”

A beta girl dashed in, followed by a small female alpha. Both of them were flushed, their hair and clothes askew, and wafting around them was a distinct smell of...

“Well,  _ finally!”  _ Monty exclaimed, and yet again the room erupted into laughter. Lexa smiled weakly, feeling as though she should, but without the context, the hilarity only deepened her feelings of alienation.  _ It doesn’t matter,  _ she told herself brusquely.  _ The mission is what matters. Focus on that, not on your self-pity. _

Clarke looked delighted at their arrival, but still seemed to be seeking someone else. “What about Raven and Octavia and Bellamy?” she asked the group at large. “Has anyone heard from them?”

“Bellamy can't make it,” came a voice from the door. Lexa watched as a dark-haired beta came limping in, leg enclosed in a complicated metal contraption. After a moment, Lexa realized that she remembered her from Tondisi. Gustus had attempted to frame her for trying to poison Lexa, in an effort to foreclose her alliance with the Sky People before it began.  _ This alliance will cost you your life,  _ he'd told her. Lexa shuddered, her hand involuntarily creeping to the bandages wrapped around her middle.

_ He was almost right. _

Raven was escorted by Octavia, who was keeping a careful distance from her. The pugnacious look on the beta's face and the cautious one on the omega’s suggested that Raven was very sensitive to the appearance of her disability, and Octavia was taking care not to make it seem like she had been assisting her in any way. Lexa struggled to remember what Clarke had told her of Raven, but while she recalled that the girl was a technical expert—it had been she who'd figured out how to disable the acid fog at Mount Weather, and who'd spearheaded the assault on the dam—she couldn’t recall the provenance of Raven’s injury.

“Pike's got him ‘supervising' the effort to figure out what went wrong with the generators,” Octavia reported, quirking her fingers in an odd gesture that Lexa didn’t recognize.

“Mostly he's just there so Pike can keep an eye on him,” Raven said, easing herself into Abby's habitual chair with a grunt. Lexa looked around to see what the older alpha thought of this, but it appeared that she had slipped out of the room at some point.

“The diversion was brilliant,” Clarke said warmly, stooping to embrace Raven. “How long is it gonna take to fix, though?”

Raven winked. “As long as we need. Nothing's actually broken; the explosion was just a bunch of harmless noise. I wired up all the electrical systems on the Ark to be overridden from my workshop, and I just flicked the switch when I heard the boom. Sinclair's gonna fuck around until I give him the all-clear, and then he'll hit the lights.”

“Shit,” Clarke said, sounding impressed, and Raven grinned.

Clarke let out a breath. “Okay,” she said, swinging her hands together. Although her voice was quiet, Lexa noticed the change immediately. The ambient noise level dropped, and all heads swung towards her mate. It was impressive and almost eerie, she thought, to see Clarke's power in action: all of these people were here, prepared to obey her, to fight and die for her. Not because she was their leader by birth or blood or status, but because she had earned their friendship, loyalty, and trust. Lexa allowed herself a quiet smile. It seemed that Clarke would never cease to amaze her.

“Well, I guess we should get started. Hey, has anyone seen my mom?”

“Here.” The voice was not her mother's, but Marcus Kane's. He entered the room at Abby's side, and while they weren’t actually touching anywhere there was a closeness about them that spoke volumes. Kane looked directly at Lexa and nodded.

“Commander.”

“Marcus Kane,” she replied, returning his gesture with a measure of relief. She found its formality familiar and reassuring. As he and Abby made their way to the back of the room, Clarke gave both of them a narrow look. To Lexa's surprise, Abby appeared embarrassed, although she could see easily through Clarke's display of sternness: her Sky girl was struggling not to laugh.

“Now that we're all present and accounted for,” Clarke said pointedly, “let’s begin.” She backed up to lean against the side of Lexa's bed, and the alpha abruptly found herself the subject of scrutiny once more. She tried to ignore it, to focus only on Clarke, but the back of her neck prickled uncomfortably.

“First, I want to thank you all for coming,” Clarke said, in a soft but compelling voice. It didn’t demand your attention, as an alpha's might; instead, it insinuated itself into your mind and made you not want to listen to anything else. “I know that we've been through alot together, but this is going to be hard and dangerous—maybe even the most dangerous thing we've ever done. But I  _ know _ it'll be the hardest, because…” Clarke drew a breath. “It’s our own people we're dealing with.”

She gave them a moment to let that sink in. Lexa watched their faces fall gradually from eagerness and spirit to anxiety and concern. It made sense, of course. Up until now, the enemies they’d been fighting had all been external. Now, though, they were facing a battle against their own people, their own kin.

“I know we all want to prevent as much bloodshed as possible,” Clarke continued, her words gentle. “That’s why you’ve been laying the groundwork for this, talking to your friends, your families, your coworkers, the person next to you in line for the cafeteria. We want to have as many people convinced to join us as we can, or at least convinced not to oppose us when the shit hits the fan. But there's gonna be a fight.” Lexa noticed the lines of her body tightening, and laid a soothing hand on the small of her back where it wouldn’t be seen. Clarke gave her a grateful look before continuing.

“Pike isn’t gonna give up power easily, and neither will those most loyal to him. And some of our people will join him too, because they’re more scared of what's out there than they are of what we might become under his leadership.” The faces Lexa saw were rapt, staring at Clarke with worry and unhappiness, but shining in their eyes was determination, a mirror of Clarke's indomitable spirit.

_ I lead because I possess the Spirit of  _ Heda,  _ that which guides and guards,  _ Lexa realized.  _ Clarke leads because she shares her spirit among all of them. _

“Before we talk about how we're gonna beat him, though, I want to know where we stand,” Clarke said. “I don’t know how Bellamy's been organizing you guys, or if there’s any organization, but—”

Monty's hand shot up. “I can tell you.” Clarke nodded at him, and he rose. “So we've kind of organized ourselves based on where we've been working and who we're with,” he said, glancing around at his companions for support. At their nods and murmurs of approval, he continued. “I work in the kitchens, for example, along with Butler and Scott, and we've been talking to the rest of the people there.” He allowed himself a small grin. “I think everybody's gonna join us. They wanted to strike against Pike yesterday, but I told them to wait.”

“That's amazing, Monty,” Clarke said, with real relief in her voice. “Okay, who else?”

Miller, the beta Monty had claimed as his boyfriend, rose. “The guards have been tricky, because most of them are Pike's people, but there are some who don't like what he's been doing and what he's been telling them to do, and they don’t like how his clique seems to have carte blanche under his protection. So when shit goes down, I think they'll stand with us. But more importantly—” and now it was his turn to grin, and pull a fat ring of keys from his pocket—“they got me copies of the keys to the armory.”

“Perfect,” Clarke said. “Do you think you can get at least two of you on the door when the time comes?”

Miller nodded. “Adams makes the shift schedules, and he's with us. Pike often reviews them and makes changes so he hasn’t been able to help too much, but I think we can make it happen when you need it.”

And so it went. One by one or sometimes in pairs, Clarke's friends rose and delivered reports on their efforts to foment rebellion. It hadn’t been easy, Lexa learned, to speak of revolution without revealing the existence of a conspiracy to create one, and it had been especially hard to determine whether the right ears were listening, but the Delinquents had been used to living outside the law, at least to some extent, since before they fell to Earth. Their experiences in the Ark's penal system, and on the ground, had prepared them for this, almost as though they'd been trained. Lexa found her own excitement growing.

_ They're ready for this. I just hope I can be of some use. _

She suspected that, given her condition, the lion's share of her work would fall after their victory against Pike. It would be up to her to calm the tensions between her army and  _ Skaikru  _ in the short run, and between her people and Clarke's over time. She would need to work with the leaders of her Clans, especially  _ Trikru,  _ to determine what assurances and reparations would have to be made, and smooth the way for  _ Skaikru's  _ reintegration into the Coalition.  _ There should be some kind of ceremony,  _ she thought, frowning,  _ some way for the new leader of  _ Skaikru  _ to renew their oath of loyalty to the  _ Kongeda.  _ And perhaps a pact of non-aggression between  _ Trikru  _ and  _ Skaikru,  _ witnessed by the other leaders... _

“So that's…good,” Clarke was saying, drawing a deep breath and nodding to herself. “But to kick it all off, we need something, well,  _ explosive.  _ And I’ve been told that Raven has something for that.”

The beta girl stirred, stretching out her stiff leg with a grimace before giving Clarke a dry look. “I'm not getting up.”

Clarke waved a hand at her. “That’s fine.”

“So, as most of you know, I've got a lot of the Ark wired up to my workshop as kind of a central nervous hub,” Raven said. “But what you might not know is that a pet project of mine has finally panned out. And believe it or not, it doesn’t go boom.”

There were assorted sounds of exaggerated disbelief, and Raven rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I know. But ultimately I think it'll make an even bigger impact. So, you know the P.A. system that's got speakers in just about every room on the Ark?” Lexa didn’t know, but she wasn’t about to draw attention to her ignorance by asking. “Well, I managed to get that hooked up to my room too. So when the time comes, I can take control of it, and give Clarke the mic.”

Raven grinned as a sudden storm of clapping and cheering greeted her announcement, but Clarke hushed it quickly. “C’mon, you guys, just cause Pike's not here doesn’t mean all of his people are with him!” But Lexa could see she was struggling not to smile.

“So you just have to give the signal, Princess, and Bellamy'll break you out and take you to my workshop,” Raven said. “Then you have to figure out what to say.”

Despite the jubilant mood in the room, Clarke looked pensive, even anxious. “Yeah, that…” She sighed. “That's supposed to be the easy part, but…”

“Shit, you probably don’t even need to say anything,” one of the Delinquents said encouragingly. “You’re Clarke fucking Griffin! You could probably burp into the microphone and everybody would listen to you.”

There was laughter, and Clarke smiled weakly. “I'll have it figured out by then, but I just want to make sure I change as many minds as I can, or at least sow enough doubt that they don’t try to fight against us. It'll be a big shock for a lot of people, because from what you guys are telling me it sounds like they think I have some master plan to beat an entire Grounder army all on my own. It’ll be hard for them to hear that we're not gonna beat them, we're gonna join them.”

The looks on the Delinquents' faces told Lexa that was true, as well as the fact that many of their eyes had begun to shift to her. She'd remained as much in the background as possible, attempting to listen to Clarke and not draw attention to herself, but she was suddenly made aware once more as her status of  _ the  _ Grounder in the room, representative, in their eyes, of her entire people.

“I think probably what most people are gonna want to know is what happens after we win,” Monty said, somewhat timidly. “That’s what I’ve been hearing, anyway. They’re worried that the Grounders are gonna—well…” He trailed off, looking anxiously at Lexa. She could easily imagine what he was going to say:  _ They’re worried that the Grounders will sweep in and kill us all.  _ She wished she could issue a blanket denial, preferably with some measure of disdain for such a ridiculous idea, but the truth was that plenty of her generals were likely looking forward to doing exactly that.

Clarke nodded at Monty. “That’s a good question. And I have my own ideas about that, but...well, I think the best person to answer it is the Commander of the Grounders herself.”

Lexa blinked. She hadn’t been expecting that, and now, suddenly, all eyes in the room were on her. Somehow, in this moment, the prospect of addressing this group of teenagers was infinitely more daunting than speaking to an assembly of her people. Pushing herself into a more upright position and attempting to suppress a grimace at the way the muscles in her stomach protested, she turned to face them, clearing her throat.

“I know it's difficult to believe with an army at your gates, but my people are not here to destroy yours,” Lexa said, keeping her voice as calm as possible. As Clarke had demonstrated, the way to gain her people’s trust was by persuasion, not authoritative force. She would only make enemies by attempting to assert control. “Before Clarke and I left Polis”—ignoring, of course, the circumstances of that leavetaking—“I informed the Ambassadors of the other twelve Clans that your rebellion was underway. As long as your people were prepared to deliver their wayward leader to my justice, the only ones punished would be those who are guilty of the massacre.”

“Then how come a big damn army still turned up?” Raven demanded, hostility plain on her face.

“Because of Pike's…expansionist tendencies,” Lexa said, tamping down the brief flare of anger in her chest before it could escape her mouth. “Octavia told me that he was planning to clear out some of the neighboring villages, and while I issued an evacuation order immediately after the massacre there was no time to be certain whether or not it had been completely carried out. I needed to protect my people, so I sent the army to set up a blockade. They are here to contain and defend, not to attack.”

“That sounds reasonable, I guess, but you're in here, not out there,” Miller said. “How does that change the situation?”

“I’m not sure,” Lexa admitted. “I was supposed to be at the head of the army, in large part so I could rein in the less patient of my generals. At this point, I'm not entirely certain who's leading it, and how they intend to proceed.” She suspected that it was helmed by a squabbling coalition of generals and war leaders, all competing to see who could shout the loudest. It was likely that they had not yet mounted an assault on Arkadia was less because of forbearance and more because they couldn't agree on how to start.

_ But these  _ Skaikru  _ don’t need to know that.  _

There were murmurs of fear and discontent, and Lexa could feel the foundations Clarke had laid shivering apart beneath her feet. Hastily, she continued, “But I promise you that when you've won your victory, I will take command of my army immediately and order them to stand down. Only those who resist the transfer of power will be harmed.”

“And then you'll just, what? Tell them to leave?” Raven said, sounding deeply skeptical. Lexa studied her, and the Delinquents’ reactions to her words. It appeared that while Clarke was indeed their leader, the beta held significant sway with them also.

“Yes,” Lexa said firmly. “Once the guilty parties have been judged and punished, I will disperse them back to their homes and lands.”

“It's that simple,” Octavia said dubiously, and Lexa nodded.

“It's that simple.” It wasn’t, but that was the image she needed to project right now. She would have to do a lot of diplomatic work among her Clans, determining what it would take to deescalate the tension, but that would take place in Polis.

Raven and Octavia still looked unconvinced, but she saw smiles and cautiously hopeful looks beginning to emerge from many of the others. They  _ wanted  _ to believe her, Lexa realized. The last few weeks since Pike's attack had probably felt like a nightmare, and she was offering them the chance to wake up.

“Lexa’s the Commander of all the Grounders,” Clarke said quietly. “They all listen to her. They all trust her…and so do I.”

“And why's that, Clarke?” Raven bit off. “She betrayed us and left us for dead on that mountain. But now you're all ‘rah, rah, Lexa!’ So what’s changed?”

_ She knows,  _ Lexa realized.  _ Octavia must have told her. She wants Clarke to say it. But if she does, they won’t trust her.  _ She clenched her fist in the blankets at her side.  _ I can’t let that happen. _

“You weren’t my people then,” Lexa said, speaking to all of them. “You were our allies, but you weren’t part of us. But when Marcus Kane took my brand, _Skaikru_ became part of the Coalition. As Commander, my duty is to protect my people, and to give them justice.” She paused, letting that sink in. _“All_ of my people.”

There were nods, shining eyes, faces still dark with concern and skepticism but determined to soldier on. Some of them might have been convinced by her words; more of them would simply follow Clarke to the ends of the earth, because of what they’d been through and because of her promise to lead them through the darkness. But they were all prepared to do what had to be done in order to ensure their people's freedom from a tyrant.

For the first time since she'd awakened in the darkness of the medbay, cuffed and terrified, Lexa felt the fierce sensation of victory coiling in her chest.  _ We can do this,  _ she realized, struggling to hold back a grin.  _ We can win. _

“You know what you need to do,” Clarke told them all, standing and crossing her arms. “The signal to get ready is when you hear my voice, and the signal to begin is when I stop speaking—whether it's because I'm done, or because Pike gets to me. Bellamy and Miller will be at the armory, ready to hand out weapons. You need to get there and grab as many as you can before Pike's guards get them, and hand them out to whoever you think you can trust. He'll have more stashed somewhere, but if we can arm enough of our people we can prevent a massacre.”

“When are you gonna do it?” someone asked, a beta girl Lexa remembered was called Harper. Clarke bit her lip.

“I’m not sure. That’ll depend on when Bellamy can break me out. But it's gonna be soon. From what we can tell, Pike's got something in the works. I don’t know what it is, but it's not gonna be good.”

“Actually,” Raven said, quirking an eyebrow, “Octavia and I have it pretty well figured out.” Her face was grave. “Based on what he's had me working on, and what Octavia's seen his goons hauling out of storage, it looks like he's building mines. Lots of them.”

Clarke looked like her blood had run cold. “How is he planning to use them?”

“He's had teams out at night, digging stuff up in secret,” Octavia said. “He's also been building some kind of platform just beyond the wall during the daytime, but I have no idea what he's gonna use it for. Or if he's gonna use it at all. It could just be to a ruse to explain the holes.”

“I’ve tried to give him as many faulty trigger mechanisms as I can, but with as many as he’s been asking for, they'll still do a lot of damage if they go off,” Raven said grimly.

“How have they not been blowing themselves up out there?” Clarke said, the edges of her calm beginning to fray.

“Because they’re tuned to a smart detonator,” Raven told her. “I built it myself. Didn’t know what it was for, but…” She shrugged. “I guess we know now.”

Lexa wanted to growl at the blasé tone with which she was discussing the deaths of hundreds of her people, but she suspected it was a method with which to cope with the unimaginable.

“We need to figure out a way to warn the Grounders,” Clarke was saying, but Lexa shook her head.

“Even if they didn’t kill the messenger on sight, they'd never listen to one of you,” she said. “They’ll think you're just trying to scare them away.” Clarke let out a growl.

“Then can we jam the signal somehow?” she asked Raven, but the beta shook her head.

“I developed the technology, but Pike's got a few people on his team with enough technical skills to refine it. It would take me too long to isolate the frequency.”

“Can we steal the detonator, then?” Monty asked, patting Miller's knee. “Nathan’s pretty damn good at that.”

“Can't be too good, if he wound up here,” Brian said teasingly, and Miller pushed him.

“We have no idea where he's keeping it, or even what it looks like, or if it has a spare…” Clarke sounded more and more frantic.

“But it's not gonna do them any good, right?” said the alpha girl called Monroe. “The Grounders are too far away to get hurt by the mines.”

“He’s got to have something in the works to provoke them into attacking,” Clarke said, frowning.

It was all coming together in Lexa's mind. The platform, the bombs, Pike's probing questions about how her people viewed her, and what would happen when she died… “So we still don’t know what he's up to,” Clarke growled.

“We do,” Lexa said, her voice shaking with rage. “He wants to kill as many of my army as he can all at once, and then he'll pick them off from the walls. And I know the reason he’ll give them to attack.”

They were all looking at her now, but she was looking at Clarke. Even as she spoke, she could tell from the fear that had risen in her mate's eyes that Clarke had guessed what she was going to say.

  
“He's going to kill me.”


	29. house of doubt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey kru, thank you so much for your patience. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please let me know what you think in the comments and on tumblr @n1ghtwr1ter!

_ "He’s going to kill me.” _

Lexa's words flooded Clarke's veins with ice. The idea that after everything they'd been through, she was going to have to watch her mate murdered in cold blood by a power-hungry psychopath, made her entire body flush cold and then hot. “Not gonna happen,” she gritted out, clenching her fists against the urge to wrap herself around Lexa and snarl at anyone who came close.

Lexa was giving her a cautious look. “It would be…very dangerous for that to happen,” she said. “Even if your rebellion were to succeed, if I am not present afterwards to order my army to stand down, you may not be able to avoid an attack. Then there is the matter of succession. While all of my novitiates have given their oaths to protect  _ Skaikru  _ as I would—”

Lexa was talking normally, like these words made sense, but she might as well have been speaking gibberish to Clarke. “No, you idiot,” she said harshly, flinging her arms around Lexa's neck. “I’m talking about  _ you.  _ I'm not losing you, not again. Not after…after everything.”

She was sure that they must be making quite the scene, if the murmurs and quiet gasps she could hear were any indication, but she didn’t care. Lexa was in her arms, warm and alive, her chest moving against Clarke's as a testament to her breathing, and Clarke never wanted to let her go. Pike be damned, revolution be damned, Lexa's whole fucking army be damned—Clarke was never going to be parted from her mate. “Never,” she whispered fiercely into Lexa's hair, feeling a few tears slip from under her closed eyelids.

After a moment of hesitation, Lexa's arms came up to wrap around her waist, and Clarke couldn’t help sighing at their warm embrace. This was where she belonged. She could travel the whole world, could sleep in the plushest room in Polis or her childhood bed in Arkadia, but this was the only place she would ever truly be at home.

“Woah.”

Miller's voice brought her back to the present, reminding her that as much as she wanted to hold Lexa tight for another millennium, they had a job to do.  _ And I bet they have questions…so many questions.  _ With a quiet sigh, she let go of Lexa, pausing to give her mate a last, lingering look full of all the love and desperation that she could. Then she turned to face her friends. They were all staring at her, some eyes wide with curiosity, others narrowed in suspicion or muddied with concern. For a moment she faltered— _ god, I can’t fucking do this— _ but then she felt warm fingers lace themselves with her own, and it gave her the courage she needed.

“Lexa is my mate. We bonded before the battle at Mount Weather. We only became…this…” She raised their linked hands, feeling foolish, sure her face must be flaming. “Recently.”

“How recently?” Monroe demanded. “Was that where you were all those months? With her?”

“No,” Clarke said. “I was…away. Living in the wilderness, on my own. About a month ago, Lexa found me and had me brought back to Polis. I didn't exactly come willingly. I was still angry.”

“The first time she saw me, she spat in my face,” Lexa offered. Clarke turned to stare at her, but the laughter her words startled out of quite a few of the Delinquents suggested it had been the right move. Heartened, Lexa continued, “She wouldn’t even speak to me for a week afterwards.”

“Well, you did interrupt my vacation,” Clarke said, smirking even as her insides twisted like a mass of nervous snakes. They were putting on a show here, she thought, a pantomime of how their relationship had grown and changed since Mount Weather, and no less than the future of the rebellion and her people were at stake.

“I did apologize for that,” Lexa said. “But then you put a knife to my throat…”

Clarke opened her mouth to argue, but then she saw the spark of humor in Lexa's gaze and rolled her own. “I had a good reason for that.”

“You did,” Lexa said quietly, sincerity shining in her eyes. If this moment had not been so fraught, Clarke would have given into the temptation to get lost in their depths, but she stopped herself with some difficulty. “You didn’t trust me, and I had not yet given you a reason to do so.”

“But since then, you've given me lots of reasons,” Clarke told her, squeezing her hand. “You invited us into the Coalition, when you didn’t have to. You fought to the death to defend that choice—to defend us. And you didn’t attack Arkadia after Pike massacred the army you sent to protect us. You agreed to give us time to take out Pike on our own, and you handled the political heat for that decision.” She could feel the prickle of everyone's eyes on her, but she kept her focus solely on Lexa. “And you took a bullet that was meant for me.” She reached out and touched Lexa's stomach ever so gently, feeling the bandages beneath the fabric. “And you never asked for anything in return.”

“Only that maybe, someday, you might be able to forgive and trust me,” Lexa said after a long moment. Despite their audience, her words felt only for Clarke.

“And I have,” Clarke said, smiling despite the tight feeling around her temples that told her she was about to start crying again.  _ Fucking pregnancy hormones… _

“Okay,  _ gross.” _

The scornful voice made Clarke whip around to face Octavia, who was feigning nausea. When she caught Clarke's eye, the younger omega gave her a wink, then pretended to vomit.

“Oh please,” Clarke said after everyone was finished laughing. “Like you and Lincoln aren’t just as disgusting.” There was more laughter, and Clarke allowed herself the shaky hope that maybe, just maybe, she had managed to win them over.

The slightly giddy buzz in the room quieted immediately as Raven slowly got to her feet. But when the beta spoke, it wasn’t directed at Clarke.

“Listen,” she told Lexa, aiming a flat stare at her, “I don’t like you. After what you did to Finn, and almost did to me, I don’t think I ever will. And that’s not even touching on how you left us at the Mountain.” Clarke swore she could have heard a pin drop as Raven paused to draw breath. Lexa's fingers were squeezing her hand, but she was sure her grip was just as tight.

“But Clarke trusts you,” Raven continued. “And I would go to hell and back for Clarke Griffin, bad leg and all. Shit, I practically have.” There was some nervous giggling, but it died away swiftly. “We all have,” Raven said, looking at the rest of the Delinquents now. “And no matter what it is, Clarke's gotten us through it, as many of us as she possibly could. We've all lost friends, and people we've cared about,” and here Raven paused to swallow hard, eyes shining with ghosts. “But we would’ve lost a hell of a lot more if we hadn’t followed her. So if Clarke tells me that I need to trust you,” Raven continued, turning back to Lexa, “then that's what I’m gonna do.”

In her peripheral vision, Clarke could see nodding heads, could hear murmurs of agreement, but she kept her focus on Lexa and Raven's locked gazes. After a long moment, Lexa nodded. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I will do all I can to prove worthy of your trust.”

Clarke felt her temples grow tight again, but she held back from rubbing at them so that she could try to convey to Lexa her gratitude and love.  _ “Thank you,”  _ she mouthed, when the alpha looked at her again. Lexa nodded, a small smile quirking up the corners of her lips.

“Okay,” Clarke said when she was sure her voice would be steady. She pushed herself off the bed and folded her arms. “We’re doing this tonight. We don’t have any other choice. If Pike kills Lexa, it's over for all of us. So this is it.” She scanned the group of her friends, searching their eyes for traces of doubt or fear. She saw plenty of the latter, but none of the former, only determination. Still, she had to ask: “If any of you aren't prepared for this, for any reason, this is your last chance to bow out.” She gestured to the door. “I won't judge you for wanting to stay safe and protect your family. But we don’t have room for anyone who isn’t 100 percent committed.”

Slowly, her friends clambered to their feet. Clarke felt the blood drain out of her face—oh god, were they all leaving? But none of them headed for the door. She felt love glow to life in her chest, love for all of these people, her friends, her pack, who had been with her through so much and were about to follow her into danger yet again.

“We’re with you,” Monty said quietly.

“We're with you, Clarke,” said Miller, at his side.

In a jumble of low but sincere voices, the rest of the Delinquents followed suit.

“With you, Clarke.”

“With you.”

“We're with you.”

Even Raven rose, yawning and stretching ostentatiously before saying, “Yeah, I’m with you, I guess. Got nothing better to do.”

By the time they were done, tears were running down Clarke’s face and she was swallowing back ugly sobs. It had been a long time since she had felt so surrounded with love and trust, longer than she could remember—but it was akin, in some way, to the feeling of Lexa's arms around her. It was as though her pack, her  _ kru,  _ had wrapped her in a metaphysical hug and promised her that they would follow her, would fight and die at her side, for a cause in which they all believed. But it was more than that, she realized.

_ At first I thought home was a place that didn’t exist anymore,  _ Clarke thought.  _ But then I found a new home in Polis, with Lexa—and in time, my old one came back to me too. _

It took her a little while to get control of herself again, aided by Lexa's thumb tracing soothing circles on the small of her back, and her mate’s scent gently filtering into her nose. At last, she said, “You know the signal. You know what's at stake. Be safe, be smart, and watch each other's backs. I'll see all of you when this is over.” She paused, sucked in a breath, sent up a silent prayer to whoever might be listening that her will be done.

“May we meet again.”

***

Lexa watched as Clarke took up a position by the door to say goodbye to her friends. As they filed out into the darkened corridors of the Ark in pairs and threes, they sometimes exchanged a few words with her mate, but more often simply reached out to grasp her shoulder or her forearm, as though for luck, or to draw something from her—courage, maybe, or her indomitable will to survive. Ever since they had pledged their solidarity and support, Lexa had felt something powerful rising within herself: a need, perhaps, to do the same for Clarke. But it was more than that. She couldn’t articulate it, exactly, she just knew she needed Clarke in her arms.

It was a trial to allow her mate to say her farewells, every bone in her body aching to pull Clarke close, but she resisted. She knew that as much as Clarke's people might be deriving strength from her, they were giving back the same. At last, however, there were only four others besides herself: Raven, Octavia, Abby, and Kane.

Raven limped her way to the door and turned to face Clarke. “I’ll see you soon, Griffin. Lights on in ten. I’ll have everything good to go for when Bellamy gets back here. When you're ready, just have him give me the signal and get your ass over to my workshop.” She gave Clarke a firm nod. “Don’t be late.”

“I won't,” Clarke told her, pulling the beta into a hug. “Be safe, Raven. See you soon.”

Abby was next at the door, with Kane at her side. Lexa found it hard to hide her smirk at the way the older alpha struggled not to flinch when Clarke asked her where she thought she was going. But she mustered a surprising amount of dignity when she told her daughter, “Marcus and I are going to say our goodbyes in private. I figured you’d want to do the same.” Now it was Clarke’s turn to blush, but Abby pulled her into a tight hug, holding her close for a long time before she left.

Octavia was next. She reached out to embrace Clarke, and the other omega returned it, but ended it quickly. The confused frown on Octavia's face morphed into clarity as Clarke began speaking in an undertone, too low for Lexa to hear. Her curiosity won out over her guilt, and she couldn’t help edging a little closer.

“—don’t know if I can, Octavia,” Clarke was saying. “So please…I need you to look out for Lexa.”

Lexa struggled not to bristle. The idea that she needed someone to mind her, like she was a child… _ Is true,  _ she told herself firmly.  _ You are not at your full strength. You may not like it, but you need someone to protect you if Pike comes for you. _

Octavia weighed that for a moment, jaw working. “Why me?”

“Pike will arrest you if he sees you, so you’re gonna have to hide anyway,” Clarke said beseechingly. “If you hide here until the fighting starts, you can keep an eye on Lexa and make sure Pike can't get to her.”

“What about Lincoln?” Octavia asked, a pained glint in her eye. Lexa ached in sympathy, knowing all too well what kind of pain the younger omega must be feeling, to have her mate so close yet inaccessible.

“We’ll get to him, I promise,” Clarke said, voice low but tinged with desperation. “I’ll make sure he gets somewhere safe.”

The two omegas stood in silence for a long moment, gazes locked, something almost tangible passing between them. And then Octavia nodded, jaw clenched.

“Okay. But I’m holding you to that, Clarke. If anything happens to him…”

“You’ll kill me,” Clarke said, a little breathlessly. Lexa sighed in sympathetic relief. “I know.” She held out her arm for Octavia to clasp. “May we meet again.”

Lexa saw Clarke’s eyes widen in surprise as Octavia ignored her hand and pulled her into a hug instead. “May we meet again.” And then she was gone, leaving Lexa and Clarke alone.

Clarke let out a low, shaky breath. Lexa watched her shoulders hunch, just a little bit, as though she was preparing to shoulder some invisible burden that the alpha knew all too well. Aching in sympathy, Lexa rose and attempted to hurry to her, eager to soothe her mate with scent and touch, but the dizziness that she’d felt earlier returned. That was how Clarke found her when she turned around, swaying in place, yearning towards her but trying to keep the floor from reaching up and throwing her down.

“Get back in bed, Lexa,” Clarke said, her voice eerily similar to her mother’s in that moment. But the affection in it wasn’t halting or uncertain, but familiar, and Lexa felt warmth glow to life in her chest as her mate took her arm and guided her back to the bed. For some reason, maybe because she was dizzy or delirious, it made her think of what their life could be like five, ten, fifteen years down the line.

They would have the chance to grow comfortable with each other, intimately at home with each other’s flaws and tics and pet peeves, building up a store of tiny moments that made them fall inexplicably deeper in love with each other. They would grow old together, watch their faces grow lined with age and care but also with laughter and happiness. They would be as a pair of gnarled trees planted so close that they twined together, growing into each other until they became one body reaching towards the light.

All of this crossed Lexa’s mind as Clarke sat her down on the bed, but when the omega pushed her gently to lie back she resisted. Instead, she wrapped her arms around Clarke’s waist, tugging her closer. To her surprise, Clarke didn’t protest. Instead, she stepped even nearer and wrapped her own arms around Lexa’s shoulders, pulling the alpha tightly against her chest. They remained there for a while, holding each other, feeling the warmth of each other’s bodies seep into their aching bones and letting the slow and steady rocking of each other’s breath soothe their turbulent spirits.

When they were finally able to let each other go enough to pull away, Lexa looked up into Clarke’s eyes. They were red-rimmed, shining with tears, and she reached up to brush them away, opening her mouth to ask Clarke what was wrong, but the omega spoke first. “Lexa, I need to know that you'll keep yourself safe, okay?” Clarke said, her voice shaking. “That you're not gonna go charging in to fight. And if Octavia tells you to hide, you hide. If you need to run, you run.” Lexa opened her mouth to argue, but the broken quality to Clarke's tone made her stop dead. “I can't lose you,” Clarke told her. “Not after…not after everything.”

Lexa's words of protest withered on her tongue. She was not  _ Heda  _ here, after all. She was only Lexa, Lexa whom Clarke loved, and needed alive. And so, swallowing her pride, she nodded. “I will always be with you.”

All of Clarke’s breath rushed out of her and washed over Lexa in a warm wave before she melted into the alpha’s arms. Lexa accepted her gladly, feeling her own eyes prick with tears. Clarke’s scent betrayed grief, fear, happiness, hope, but nothing so much as overwhelming relief. Lexa, however, felt the weight of her promise weighing on her heavily.  _ This might be the hardest thing I have ever done.  _ Dying was easy, after all. She had trained and prepared for it her entire life.

_ Living is going to be much harder. _

***

Clarke wasn’t sure how long they stayed that way, wrapped up in each other, pulling back only to trade deep, passionate kisses and gaze into each other’s eyes before they couldn’t stand to be even that far away, and tugged each other closer once more. What she did know, however, was that it wasn’t nearly long enough before Bellamy burst in through the door.

“Clarke, what happened? What did I miss? I think Pike’s cooled off for now, but—oh. Oh, shit. Sorry!”

Clarke jumped away from Lexa, face flaming and fury rising. Logically she’d known that they wouldn’t have much time together, but that didn’t mean she was happy about Bellamy coming in and ruining it  _ now.  _ Lexa let out a warning growl, and as ridiculous as it was in their present situation, it made warmth spark to life between her legs. Reaching out a hand to soothe her mate, Clarke demanded, “What the fuck, Bellamy? Don’t you knock?”

Bellamy didn’t seem able to look either of them in the eye. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, gaze flicking from her boots to his. “I didn’t think you were—I didn’t know...”

As much as Clarke might have liked to make him squirm for a while longer, they didn’t have time. “What’s going on?”

The alpha huffed out a breath. “Well, I just got out of interrogation. It was pretty brutal, but I think I managed to convince him that I didn’t make the power go out. But on my way here, I made a few laps to shake off anybody tailing me and I saw a lot of Pike’s people gathering near the north pasture, over where they’ve been building that platform.” An almost frantic look crept into his eyes. “Clarke, I heard them talking. They’re planning to—”

“We know,” Clarke said. “Pike’s gonna kill Lexa to provoke the Grounders into attacking us, and then he’s gonna blow them all up with the mines they’ve been planting. We need to launch the rebellion before he can do that.”

Bellamy blinked. “Oh. Well, that’s…um…” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “What do you need me to do?”

_ Finally he says something useful,  _ Clarke thought acidly, but antagonizing him wasn’t going to help anything.

Quickly, she laid out the situation, filling him in on what they’d discussed and what she'd need him to do: rally the troops, make sure the right guards were on the armory, and slip Lincoln the keys he'd need to help the Grounder prisoners escape. Bellamy took all of it with nothing more than silent nods and a furrowed brow except for the last.

“I don’t think they should be fighting,” he said. “Most of them are still too sick or injured.”

“That’s fine,” Clarke said. “Do any of them need immediate medical attention?”

Bellamy shook his head. “They’re all stable, just weak.”

“Find them somewhere to hide that's safe, out of the fighting,” Clarke told him. “We don't want people thinking this is a Grounder uprising and attacking them.”  

Clarke could feel a silent snarl vibrating through Lexa's body where it touched her own, and she put her hand on the alpha's thigh to soothe her.

Bellamy nodded. “Lincoln will lead them. Is there anything else?”

For a moment Clarke struggled with a wave of panic.  _ Somebody to tell me how to do this, maybe? So I’m not just making up how to start a revolution as I go along?  _ But there hadn’t been anyone from the beginning, and there wasn’t anyone now. Just her. Sucking in a breath, she squared her shoulders, doing her best to project a confidence instead of exhaustion.

“That’s it,” Clarke said, flashing him the brief, tired smile that was all she could manage. “Be safe.”

“You too.” He reached out his hand just a bit, as though for her to clasp, but thought better of it. “I’ll be back to take you to Raven's workshop soon.”

Clarke nodded. “Bring guns.”

When he was gone, she turned back to Lexa. The tiredness and anxiety tingling under her skin must have showed on her face, because the alpha's eyes were worried and sad. “Come here,” she told Clarke quietly, standing and opening her arms. The omega wanted to protest that she shouldn’t, Lexa should be resting, they should be planning what to do if this didn’t go the right way – but she was already stepping into her mate's embrace. Lexa's arms enveloped her, warm and strong and safe. Her long, clever fingers carded through Clarke's hair, sending soothing shivers coursing down her back. And her chest moved under Clarke’s cheek, slowly and evenly, like a pure miracle.

Clarke began to cry.

“You are not alone in this, Clarke,” Lexa said, as though she wasn’t currently soaking the front of her shirt. “Your mother is here. Your friends will stand with you to the very end. And I will always be with you.”

That just made Clarke cry harder. “You can't promise that,” she said, voice cracked and shaking. “You can’t know. What happens if you're hurt, or my friends get killed, or my mom, or I just stand up there trying to get people to fight and nothing happens? Oh god, what am I even supposed to say? I have no clue what I’m doing here, no idea…”

“You'll know,” Lexa said firmly as her frenzied words dissolved into sobs.

“How can you know that? You can't know that,” Clarke muttered through her tears. Lexa's answer held nothing but certainty and strength.

“Because you’re you.”

Clarke looked up blearily to ask Lexa what she meant and saw her mate smiling down at her, gently but powerfully. Love seemed to be pouring from her, so much that Clarke felt as though the sun had risen indoors, bathing her with its warmth and light.  _ Do not be afraid,  _ it seemed to say,  _ for I am with you. I will always be with you. _

“What if it's not enough?” Clarke asked, her voice watery and weak.

Lexa shook her head, smile never wavering. “It will be enough. You are enough.”

And there was nothing to do after that but kiss her.

***

They did not have long before Abby returned, forcing them to break apart reluctantly, but Clarke could not bear to let go of Lexa’s hand entirely. If her mother noticed their entwined pinkies she said nothing, but Clarke figured she wasn’t in a position to say anything anyway, with her hair all flyaways and her clothing askew. She thought about asking her pointedly “Where’s Kane?” but decided to give her mother a hug instead.

“You should be resting,” Abby told Lexa halfheartedly, but when the younger alpha didn’t budge, she didn’t protest.

After Abby came Octavia, looking pale but determined. She nodded to Clarke as she walked in before taking up a position in the corner, near a vent. That must have been where Octavia got in the first time, Clarke thought, and where she was planning on hiding out when the fighting began.

They waited in silence. Clarke couldn’t seem to stop squeezing Lexa's hand, sometimes to what she was sure must be the point of pain, but her mate bore it without complaint. She was simply a warm, solid presence by Clarke's side, radiating comfort and security, and Clarke couldn’t imagine how she was supposed to walk away from her when Bellamy came back to escort her to Raven's workshop. But she was going to.  _ Because you're you,  _ she heard Lexa's voice saying, and as much as she didn’t want to be her—didn’t want to be  _ Wanheda  _ or Clarke Griffin, only Lexa's  _ Klark _ —she knew she had to be. As usual, there was no other choice.

_ One last time,  _ she told herself, squeezing Lexa’s hand the hardest yet.  _ One last time, and then you can rest. But first, we save our people. _

The sound of footsteps in the corridor made Clarke tense. There were more of them this time—three, maybe four people—and at first she thought,  _ Oh god, it's Pike, he must be coming for Lexa.  _ But then she heard Bellamy's four-note whistle. “Thank god,” she muttered, and returned it. When Lexa looked at her quizzically, she sighed, “It’s from a movie we all watched when we were kids,” but she didn’t have time to explain further. Her honor guard was here.

That was, anyway, what Bellamy insisted on calling it. “Oh my god, please don't,” Clarke groaned, but he ignored her.

“Everything's ready,” he said. “All the teams are in place, we've got people on the armory ready to run arms to them on your signal, and the Grounders know where to go.” He handed a gun to Abby, offered Octavia her gun and sword, and, to Clarke's surprise, even pulled Lexa's dagger from his belt. “Um…I’m assuming this belongs to you,” he said awkwardly. “Clarke had it when she came in, but it doesn’t look like one of ours, so…”

Lexa nodded, stepping forward to take it. “Thank you, Bellamy of the Sky People.”

He nodded stiffly, and then turned back to Clarke. “We'll have more people on their way soon, after the fight at the armory. That’ll be the first place they go and they’ll hit it the hardest, so there’s no way we'll be able to hold it. But we'll at least buy some time for you to do your thing.”

“We’re gonna need guards here,” Clarke pointed out. “Pike will go straight for Lexa as soon as his people take the guns.”

“Way ahead of you, Princess,” Bellamy said. “We’ve got all our teams laid out strategically to waylay him, and Raven's ready to jam his radio frequency. No way he's getting in here.”

Clarke let out a breath, trying to think of anything he hadn't mentioned, some preparation they might have missed… _ Some reason to put off leaving Lexa,  _ her treacherous brain suggested, and she told it to shut the fuck up.

As though she could read Clarke's mind, Lexa took gentle hold of her shoulders and pulled her into an embrace. “You can do this,  _ niron,”  _ she whispered into Clarke's hair. “I have never been more certain of anything, or anyone, in all my life.”

Clarke let out a shaky half-laugh, half-sob. “Yeah.” She breathed her mate's scent in deep and squeezed her as tight as she dared, cognizant of the alpha's still-healing wound but needing more than anything to feel as though Lexa wouldn’t slip away the moment she left Clarke's sight.

“Just one more fight,” Lexa murmured, “and then we will be together.”

_ Together.  _ The word took root in Clarke's brain, filled her chest cavity with something like strength.  _ Together.  _ After all of this is over, they would finally be together.

_ “Oso gonplei nou ste odon,”  _ Clarke said, pulling back to look at her. The brilliant smile Lexa gave her warmed her heart with courage.

“May we meet again.”

Just as Clarke had refused to do when they were meant to have parted the first time, she took hold of Lexa's arm and clasped it. “May we meet again.”

***

After Clarke left the room, accompanied by Bellamy and Kane and a small contingent of rebels who were meant to escort her to Raven's workshop, the minutes felt to Lexa like small eternities. She badly wanted to work out some of the tension boiling in her stomach; ordinarily she would have done so by sparring with one of her guards, or simply pacing, but one look from Abby told her that neither would be allowed. To Lexa's disgust, a sudden onset of dizziness forced her back to bed, to sit in silence so thick she could hear her heart thudding in her ears.

_ You can't move forward and it's giving you too much time to think. _

The echo of her words to Clarke, themselves an echo of Anya's, made Lexa smile despite herself. She couldn’t help remembering the night she’d repeated that wisdom to Clarke, just before the battle for Mount Weather… She could never have predicted the consequences of their bonding then, but as she thought of the grainy images on the screen of the ultrasound machine, she couldn’t bring herself to regret it. They might both die today, but the chance that they would live, would be able to have the family their love had made, was worth fighting for.

The thought should have brought her courage, but instead she let out a sigh. Her fingers wrapped reflexively around the handle of her knife, testing their weakness, and she felt pressure burning in her temples. She was  _ Heda _ . She wasn’t going to cry tears of frustration because she was not strong enough to serve as bodyguard for her mate—but Lexa rather wanted to. Growling under her breath, she wrapped her arms around her knees, wishing for anything but this waiting, wishing she didn’t feel so helpless, so hopeless…

A warm hand on her shoulder made her startle, reaching for the knife, but when she turned it was Clarke’s mother. She didn’t say anything, but her expression was soft and sad and kind, very much unlike the suspicion and concern she often wore. There was something almost Clarke-like about the faint wisps of scent Lexa could catch from her, and it was embarrassingly comforting.

_ Kszzt. _

Lexa leaped to her feet, snatching up her dagger and staring around wildly for the source of the sound. It came again, a hissing buzz of static, and she was able to trace its point of origin to an odd metal grill in the ceiling, shot through with hundreds of tiny holes. Eyes wide, she found herself looking back at Abby for some hint of what it could be, and found the older alpha staring up at the grate with an expectant look, hands clenched into fists. When she met Lexa’s eyes, she nodded. After a moment of confusion, Lexa understood her to mean,  _ It’s Clarke.  _ A moment later, Lexa realized what she meant.

_ “Citizens of Arkadia, this is Clarke Griffin.” _

Lexa sucked in a breath to hear her mate’s voice emanating from the grate in the ceiling. Clarke’s voice sounded shaky, a bit uncertain, but as she continued to speak it gained conviction and force.

_ “You all know me. You know who I am, you know what I’ve done. We’ve fought together, risked death together, maybe even set foot on this new world together—or you know and love somebody who has. That’s why many of you trust me, and are hoping that I’m going to lead you out of the scary situation we’re in. And that’s what I’m gonna do. But first, I need to explain. _

_ “When I left Arkadia almost three months ago, I went into the wilderness and lived among the Grounders. I’ve been to their villages and their trading posts, and even their capital city. I’ve been treated with kindness and with cruelty, just like I was treated on the Ark. The Grounders are people just like us; for everyone who wants to fight for vengeance, there’s someone who wants to fight for peace. _

_ “You haven’t been told the full story. You were told that the first army was here to destroy us once and for all, but that was a lie. I’m here to tell you the truth. _

_ “Lexa betrayed us at Mount Weather. She left us to die because the Mountain Men offered her a deal: she could have her people back—all of her people—if she broke our alliance. But in her place, I would have done the same thing. If saving all of you meant breaking a treaty, I would do whatever it took. But it’s different now. Back then, we weren’t her people. Now we are. We swore an oath of fealty to her, and Marcus Kane has her mark branded into his skin. _

_ “When the Ice Nation blew up Mount Weather, the Commander was prepared to go to war for us. The army that came here was from the Tree Clan _ ,  _ the people whose lands we live on, and they were here to protect us from the Ice Nation. The Commander sent them as a fulfillment of her oath to defend us from harm, as part of her Coalition. The day after they were slaughtered, Lexa was on her way here with the body of the Ice Queen, to prove that her loyalty could be trusted. _

_ “The Grounders aren’t our enemies.”  _ Clarke’s intake of breath hissed over the speaker.  _ “The real enemy is inside our walls. His name is Charles Pike. _

_ “Pike was the one who ordered the massacre of the  _ Trikru  _ army, the people sent to protect us. He’s the one who rejected the protection and support of the Coalition, and turned neighbors into enemies. The Commander brought an offer of peace. Pike is the one who wants a war.” _

_ “We can’t beat the Grounders. The army at our gates is ten times the size of the one Pike massacred. If we try, we’ll kill thousands of them, but they’ll overwhelm us and wipe us out. But it’s not about that.” _

Clarke’s voice had become loud and forceful, her syllables short and diction sharp. Despite her weakness, Lexa felt the call to battle stirring in her veins. Just as quickly, however, she modulated her tone, became persuasive and beseeching.

_ “It doesn’t need to be about surviving anymore. It can be about living instead. The people in Polis aren’t living in some perfect world, but they’re not fighting for their lives every day either. They don’t have to wake up every morning and wonder if each day will be their last. They have peace, and we can too. But not under Pike. _

_ “Lexa is willing to offer us a chance to rejoin the Coalition. If we agree, we’ll have peace. But the price for that peace is justice. Arkadia must choose a new leader, and the ones who committed the massacre must face the Commander’s judgement for their crimes. When that happens, this war will be over. _

_ “So now I’m asking you to make a choice. Stand up to the people who tell you to fear and hate what you don’t know, who tell you that the world begins and ends with us, inside these walls. Stand up to the person who committed an atrocity in your name, and tell him that he doesn’t speak for you. Stand with me, and with my friends, and overthrow Pike. If you can’t do that, then don’t stand in our way.” _

The sound cut out with a harsh crackle. Lexa sucked in a breath that sounded like a roar in the sudden stillness. But the silence didn’t last for long. She soon became aware of the rattle of gunfire, far off yet but growing nearer and louder, and she slowly got off the bed, clutching the dagger to her chest. Distantly she could discern shouts and screams, the noise of people fighting in close quarters; it echoed oddly in the metal warren of the Ark, but the sound was unmistakable.

The battle for Arkadia had begun.


	30. seven devils

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it. The one we've all been waiting for. If Young Gods was a TV season, this would be the finale (more or less).
> 
> As always, I would love to hear your thoughts on whether this lived up to the hype in the comments or on tumblr @n1ghtwr1ter.

Clarke took her finger off the PA call button and stepped back, breathing heavy and deep. Her stomach felt like a twisting mass of snakes, her entire body thrilling with nervous energy. She had done it. She had made her final play, the one that would determine the outcome of the entire game. She had spoken to her people, had told them the truth about Pike and about Lexa and the Grounders. Now they would find out whether that truth was enough to convince them to set themselves free.

“Nice work, Griffin,” Raven said quietly, making her look up from where she’d been staring blindly at the intercom. There was nothing sardonic about the beta’s tone or expression. When Clarke met her eyes, Raven gave her a nod, and after a moment she returned it.

“Do you think it worked?” Clarke croaked, resisting the urge to massage her neck. She hadn’t been speaking for that long, but it almost felt like the words had scorched her throat on their way out.

Raven shrugged, an unconvincing affectation of unconcern. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

The sound of raised voices made them both jump. Dread coiled in Clarke's gut as she headed for the door, and her hand shook on the knob.  _ This is it,  _ she thought.  _ Pike's here.  _ She had thrown down the gauntlet, and Arkadia's Chancellor was here to pick it up.

She emerged to see a solid wall of backs: Bellamy, Kane, Monroe, Miller, and the other members of her honor guard. The air was thick with the scent of fear and aggression, and Clarke had to put a hand over her nose to avoid being dizzied by the smell as she attempted to push forward for a better view.

“I won’t ask you again,” she heard Pike say, his voice still quiet but ringing with alpha command. “Step aside, Bellamy.”

Bellamy's voice shook as he said, “Not gonna happen.”

“This is insubordination!” someone else shouted, presumably one of Pike's people. But Clarke managed to get a glimpse of Pike as he shook his head.

“No, this is a rebellion.” He looked genuinely sorrowful as he said to Bellamy, “Are you sure you really want to do this, son? Is she really worth it?” As the younger alpha hesitated, Pike spoke louder, for the benefit of the rest. “Just turn her over and this all goes away. Surrender your weapons, go back to your homes, and none of you will be in trouble. I guarantee it.”

Clarke was close enough now to smell Bellamy's indecision, but Kane was ready to step in where he faltered. “This is not about Clarke,” he said harshly. “This is about you. You've started a war that will lead all of us to our deaths, and we're going to finish it before you get Arkadia destroyed.”

“I did what I did to  _ protect  _ Arkadia!” Pike snarled, and Clarke could feel her own knees buckle under the heavy weight of his scent and voice. But Kane held firm.

“The only way for you to protect Arkadia now is if you give yourself up to the Grounders, and face justice for your crimes,” the beta said in a steely voice.

“That’s not gonna happen,” Pike growled. His guards raised their weapons, and Clarke's did the same.

At this point, Clarke was done with listening to them posture. She didn’t want bloodshed, but Pike was not going to give himself up willingly. Something had to give.

“Enough!” she shouted, pushing herself to the front. “We gave them a chance to surrender and they chose to fight.” She turned to Kane and then to Bellamy, holding both of their gazes for a split second to ensure that they were listening. “Our priority is Pike. We need to take him alive.”

She looked back to see Pike staring at her, naked hatred on his face. “Get Clarke,” he snapped to his companions. “We take her and this rebellion ends. No need for her to be alive, though.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Clarke told him quietly, something hard and bright swelling in her chest. “This isn’t my revolution. This is the people of Arkadia. They believe it's time for a new Chancellor.”

Each group stood there staring at each other, guns pointed at each other's hearts. Clarke understood the hesitation. There was something that felt viscerally wrong about giving an order to fire on your own people.  _ But if I don’t do it, Pike will. And if he does, the first death will be one of us. _

In the end, she didn’t have to. A shot rang out from outside, someone screamed, and the world erupted into the lightning of muzzle flashes and the thunder of bullets. Clarke dove for the cover of an exposed strut, pressing her back against the wall and tucking her head into her chest. She gritted her teeth against the urge to look up, to see if anyone from her side had been hit, but she didn’t dare. Instead, she focused on worming her gun out of the holster on her hip and flicking the safety off, waiting for a pause in the firing.

It came soon, as everyone found cover, and she was able to take stock of their situation. From what she could tell, her people were relatively well protected, dispensed in doorways or behind metal crates or structures of the Ark. As she peered through the smoke, she caught sight of Bellamy, crouched behind a beam, and he gave her a nod. She noticed someone being dragged back behind the bend in the corridor, clutching at a wound on their leg, but from the rate of bleeding it didn’t look arterial. They would be all right as long as they got medical attention.

She turned her attention to something much more difficult: trying to figure out the disposition of Pike's forces. It was complicated by the fact that every time she poked her head up, she was greeted by a hail of gunfire, but that wouldn’t last.  _ Pike will tell them to cut it out so they don’t run out of ammo. They probably didn’t bring enough for a firefight, so they'll need to get to the armory. _

She knew they had their own people on the armory, but they wouldn’t be able to hold it against a force as large as Pike's. The Chancellor's forces would have access to riot gear, automatic weapons, tear gas…everything a dictator might use to quell an uprising.

Clarke could feel her panic levels spiking, but she forced them back.  _ Think, Griffin! Think like him.  _ Pike would want to get to the armory, but he also wanted to kill her. He would probably try to create a distraction, to find something she would need to protect and force her to choose between reinforcing her people at the armory and losing a lot of lives. Her stomach dropped as her thoughts shot to Lexa, but the medbay was all the way on the other side of the Ark. There was no way he could get there before she –

“They're retreating!” Bellamy shouted. “Push forward!”

“No!” Clarke yelled, but it was too late. A group of their people had already raced ahead eagerly, directly into the path of a rolled grenade. Clarke's ears rang with the blast's percussive force, but she could still discern the shrieks of the wounded. Her eyes swimming with smoke, she rolled herself out of cover to try and get to whoever had been hit, only to be greeted by a fusillade. Clarke snarled helplessly as she dove back behind her pillar. The bastards were using her instincts to help the wounded against her – and to slow them down further.

Torn between trying to see if she could save anyone and calling a retreat so she could make it to where she was sure Pike was headed, Clarke clenched her fists in useless rage. But before she could make up her mind, she heard a shout: “Hey princess, cover your ears!”

Clarke did, and squeezed her eyes shut for good measure. A second later, she was glad she had: brightness exploded behind her closed lids as the sound of flashbangs rattled in her skull. Raven must have had a few in her workshop, she realized. Clarke still felt dizzy with the sound, but she forced herself to her feet, scrambling forward to get to the wounded. Someone lay still – in the smoky dimness of the hall, she couldn’t tell who – but the jagged red gashes streaking their torso told her that they needed her help.

Before she could get there, another storm of bullets forced her to the floor. Clarke cursed under her breath as she covered her head. None of the shots were anywhere near her, suggesting that the fusillade was just meant as a deterrent, but the prospect of a ricochet made any forward motion too dangerous.

“Clarke, get out of here!” came Raven's voice, and a moment later she felt the beta tugging at her arm, helping her up. “I’ve got medical supplies in my workshop. I’ll get them to safety, but you need to go!”

There wasn’t time to argue. Clarke squeezed Raven's hand before turning around and racing back to where she knew her friends to be.

She found Bellamy propped against a wall with Kane at his side. He looked dazed and a trickle of blood ran down from his hairline, but he seemed to have been shielded from the worst of the blast. “Is he okay to move?” she asked Kane. “I think Pike's gonna try to circle around us and get to the Grounders. He knows we won’t let them get hurt.”

Kane's eyes went wide. “Lincoln won’t be able to protect them all by himself.”

Clarke nodded briskly. “Which is why we need to move!”

Bellamy coughed and began picking himself up, moving like he’d aged fifty years. “I’m okay.” Kane tried to tell him that he should stay and help Raven look after the wounded, but he shook his head. “I’ll be fine. We need to get to Lincoln.” Even in the dimness of the smoky corridor, his face looked grim but determined. “Octavia would never forgive me if I let anything happen to her mate.”

“Let’s go,” Clarke said, setting off down the corridor at a swift jog.

As they ran, Clarke heard the sound of gunfire elsewhere throughout the compound. The noise of bullets and screams and running boots echoed weirdly in the halls of the Ark, making her flinch more than once in anticipation of an attack only to realize that the sound must be farther off. It probably didn’t help that her ears had been assailed by very close explosions twice in quick succession, she thought ruefully. The harsh stink of powder stung in her nose from the grenade, and it had yet to clear.

Raven had switched the Ark to emergency power only, meaning that the corridors were dark except for the red glare of the emergency lights. Growing up on the Ark, those lights had meant that something was very, very wrong: a pressure leak in the hull, or some other system failure that made the area unsafe and required evacuation. The russet glow made Clarke’s stomach churn.  _ There’s nowhere to evacuate now. Everything’s red across the Ark. _

Every so often, they passed windows that afforded them a view of the chaos enveloping the compound. The spotlights were bright, but even so Clarke could only see the flare of guns as bullets exploded from their muzzles, the vague shapes of people running away or crashing together or falling to the ground, motionless.

_ My people,  _ she thought, clenching her teeth as a bitter taste flooded her mouth. She put her head down and ran faster.

***

The moment they reached the guards’ block, which housed the jail that held the Grounder prisoners, Clarke knew she’d made the right call. She could hear booted feet pounding along the floor from the opposite direction, where the armory lay.  _ Some of them must have split off from the assault to attack the Grounders,  _ she realized. Pike’s people were planning to distract them by going after their defenseless and wounded, keeping them from reinforcing the Delinquents guarding the armory.  _ We’ll need to work fast. _

As Clarke rounded the corner to the corridor that housed the jail block, bright lights flared and the rattle of gunfire erupted at the other end. Bellamy managed to tug her back behind a pillar, hard enough that the air was punched from her lungs. “Fuck,” she growled as soon as she got her breath back. “They’re already here. What are we gonna do?”

“A few of us could circle around the block and come up through the access tunnels,” Bellamy suggested. “It might throw them off enough to push them back.”

Clarke shook her head. “That’ll take too long. Pike could get through to the armory any minute.” Her heart seized in her chest as she remembered that it wasn’t just the weapons the armory housed she was talking about. If Pike got through their defenses, that would mean her friends, the ones who’d been guarding it – Monty and Monroe and Miller, among others – were dead. But she forced the bitter burn of guilt back behind a wall of focus. She couldn’t think about that now. They had a battle to win.

“Take up positions along the corridor,” she barked. “If somebody moves, shoot them.” They didn’t have time to get into a protracted gun battle with Pike’s people, but they could at least try to pick a few of them off while she figured out what to do. Bullets zinged through the air as Clarke followed her own directive, picking out a spot where a support beam lanced from floor to ceiling. If she poked her head out, she could see where the corridor they were in intersected with the one leading to the jail. The sharp report of gunshots and the haze of gunsmoke wouldn’t let her see much further than that, but she was pretty certain from where the muzzle flashes bloomed bright in the darkness that their enemies were a lot closer to the jail than they were.

_ Fuck, fuck, fuck. _

Panic and desperation threatened to overcome her, but she forced them down once more. Bellamy’s idea was a long shot, but it was all they had. She turned to him, opening her mouth to tell him and Kane to go for the tunnels, but her words were swallowed by the sound of a roar. It started from one man but was soon joined by many throats, and the rumble of charging feet soon eclipsed every other sound.

Clarke stuck her head around the pillar, watching in astonishment as a wave of bodies poured from the direction of the jail. She recognized the tall, shaven-headed figure leading them:  _ Lincoln!  _ He must have heard their approach and decided to lead the Grounders to attack Pike’s guards. But it had to be a diversionary tactic at best: she knew that they couldn’t be in any shape to hold off Pike’s people for long.

“Go!” Clarke shouted, springing to her feet. “Reinforce the Grounders!” It was a risky move, but it was the only one they had. Anything else would mean a slaughter.

Clarke launched herself around the pillar and pelted at the mass of fighters. The surprise attack had managed to get Pike’s people off balance before they could shoot more than a few of the Grounders, and now the prisoners had fallen upon them with improvised weapons – pipes and chair legs, from what Clarke could see – that were much better suited to close quarters. She knew the guards probably had stun batons, but they were still struggling to recover from the initial assault, and right now the Grounders were winning.

It was impossible to find a clear shot in the tumult of smoke and thrashing, punching bodies, so Clarke threw herself into the melee, using the butt of her pistol as a club. She saw Lincoln at the front of the pack like an avenging god, taking on multiple guards at once and pummeling them to the ground. The scent of fear and aggression stung in her nose almost as thickly as the gunsmoke. It wasn’t as intoxicating to her as it would have been for an alpha, but it was still dizzying. Clenching her jaw, Clarke forced herself to keep going.

A shout rang out from the far end of the hall, back beyond Pike’s guards, and suddenly the desperate charge had turned into a full-scale rout. Pike’s people were turning, tripping over themselves in their haste to escape the Grounders’ ferocity. Clarke’s heart lifted to see it, but sank a moment later as she did a hasty count of their enemies’ retreating backs. Not all of Pike’s people were here, she realized, which was why her group had managed to beat them back with the reinforcement of a few sick and starving Grounders. Just as she’d suspected, this had only been a diversion intended to keep them away from their real objective.

The Grounders set up a ragged cheer, but Clarke could tell they had used up what little strength they had on their attack. Many of them were bent over and wheezing with their hands on their knees, or leaning precariously on each other; a few had slumped against the wall. Clarke worried at her lip. They were going to need help getting to safety. There was no way Lincoln could do it himself before a roving patrol came by and shot the prisoners for having escaped. But at the same time, if they stopped now to save the Grounders, they risked losing the armory – and, potentially, the battle.

“Go, Clarke.” Lincoln’s voice made her jump. She'd been so lost in thought that she hadn’t noticed him approaching. Up close, he looked wan and exhausted, thinner than she'd last remembered him, but he was a lot better off than most of his fellow prisoners. At her look, he continued, “That wasn’t just a retreat. They got called off for a reason.”

Clarke nodded. “I think they're heading for the armory. This was a diversion.”

Lincoln’s eyes widened. “Then what are you waiting for? Go! I can handle things here.”

Although the urgency in his tone ignited a similar pulse in her blood, Clarke narrowed her eyes at him, considering. On closer inspection, he looked even worse than she'd first thought…and then there was the slow seep of blood blossoming from a wound in his side. In the dimness, she hadn’t noticed it initially, given his dark shirt, but from the way he stood it was clearly paining him.

Clarke was reminded once more of the dull, pained light in Octavia's eyes as she'd begged Clarke to look out for her mate. But looking at the slowly-spreading bloodstain, she was also forcibly transported back to when it had been her own mate bleeding out, and she'd felt more helpless than she'd ever been in her life. She didn’t want that pain for Octavia. It shouldn’t be hers to bear.

Decided, Clarke shook her head. “No way. You need medical attention.”

Lincoln growled in frustration. “I’m fine, Clarke. You need to go –“

“You can barely stand, and you’re doing better than a lot of them.” She gestured to the Grounders, more of whom had taken spots on the floor. “I'm under orders, anyway. I have to bring you in.”

Lincoln's brow furrowed. “Orders from who? The Commander?”

Clarke snorted. “Are you joking? Lexa would be out here herself if my mom wasn’t watching her. No, I have orders from your mate. And you know how Octavia is when she doesn’t get her way.”

Lincoln squeezed his eyes shut and his jaw worked for a moment, but eventually he let out a sigh. “Fine. I’ll go with you to the medbay…after we get my people to safety.”

Clarke nodded.  _ “Our  _ people.”

Lincoln’s eyebrows rose, but after a moment he accepted it. “Our people,” he said, reaching out to briefly clasp her arm.

He limped over to where most of the Grounder prisoners were, calling to them in  _ Trigedasleng _ , and Clarke turned back to where Bellamy and Kane and the others waited, clutching their weapons and shifting. The scent of agitation rising from the group was powerful.

“Here's the deal,” Clarke said. “They didn't just retreat; they were a decoy to keep us away from the armory. That’s where they’re headed now, and we need to reinforce our people so they don’t get those weapons. But we also need to help the Grounders get to safety. So Kane, Abrams, Scott, and I will stay here and help Lincoln. The rest of you are gonna go with Bellamy to the armory.”

There was a general murmur of approval. Her friends wanted to  _ do  _ something, to help the rest of the rebellion. When Bellamy barked, “On me,” they formed up behind him eagerly.

“Be safe,” he told her, gripping her shoulder briefly as he passed. She nodded at him before turning back to Lincoln.

“Where are we taking them?”

The safe location Bellamy and Lincoln had worked out was a disused office block a few hallways down from the jail wing. Leaning on each other, on their improvised weapons, and on Clarke, Scott, and Abrams, the Grounder prisoners made their slow, halting way to the room that they hoped would be far enough away from the fighting that they would be safe until it was over. The air was heavy with the unspoken knowledge that if the Delinquents didn’t win, there was nowhere that the Grounders would be safe. But as Clarke labored under the arm of the exhausted beta woman she was supporting, she knew better than to mention that. From the looks in their eyes, these people knew. They had made the decision that it was better to die fighting than to wait in chains for the end to come.

The office block was a mess, hollowed out by construction that was meant to transform it into apartments for young families without children. Right now, though, it was just a vast wreck, tools and debris strewn everywhere, beams exposed and wiring dangling from the rafters like dully metallic plant roots. Clarke had seen buildings that had been blasted apart by the  _ Praimfaya  _ all those years ago that looked better. As she helped the Grounders find what comfort they could, leaning against stacks of boards or slumping on piles of insulation, she felt her heart sink. They had so much work to do, even if they won, to heal the wounds that this war had rent within Arkadia.

_ But we won’t be doing it alone,  _ she told herself.  _ Lexa will be with us.  _ The thought warmed her. For the first time, she wasn’t going to have to figure out how to make the best of a harsh and unfamiliar world all on her own. Lexa had spent her time as Commander building a new world out of the ruins of the old. Clarke had seen what just a few years of peace could do: Polis, in a word. Maybe someday Arkadia would be just as bright and bustling as Lexa’s city. 

The rattle of bullets coming from somewhere outside reminded Clarke that before they could begin the process of rebuilding, they had a fight to win. Wiping her sweat- and blood-soaked hands off on her pants, she took stock of the room. The Grounders were all inside, those of them who had been wounded in the scuffle with Pike's guards were being cared for by their fellow prisoners as best they could…and Clarke's radio was buzzing.

“Come in, Clarke,” Bellamy's voice crackled across the channel as she fumbled it from her belt loop. “Come i-”

“I’m here,” she said hastily. “What’s your status?”

“They were at the armory like you said. We managed to surprise them and force them back but now we're pinned down taking potshots at each other. How did it go with the Grounders?”

“They’re safe,” Clarke told him, “but Lincoln's hurt. We're taking him to the medbay to get treatment.” Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw the beta's lip curl, but she ignored it.

“Dammit,” Bellamy said. “I’m sure that'll work out in Octavia's head to be my fault somehow. All right, keep us posted on your status. When you’re ready to leave the medbay let me know and I'll send you an escort.”

“I don’t need an escort!” Clarke tried to tell him, but he spoke over her.

“And before you tell me you don’t need an escort, yeah you do. Pike put a target on your head, Clarke. If he or his people see you, they’ll kill you on sight.”

Clarke could only growl, gripping the radio so tightly the plastic creaked. When she managed to calm herself enough to speak, she asked, “Have you seen Pike anywhere? If we can capture him, this thing could all be over…”

“We saw him a while ago heading toward the back of his soldiers. He might have gotten injured and be looking for medical attention. We'll keep an eye out.”

“Good. We need him alive.”

She clicked off the radio and turned back to the others. “Okay. Scott and Abrams, you’re gonna stay with the Grounders and make sure they're safe. If you hear anybody approaching, you radio immediately, all right?” The two Delinquents nodded. “Kane, Lincoln, you're with me. We're gonna get to the medbay, and then…” She paused to suppress a swell of dark satisfaction. “We’re gonna hunt Pike.”

***

Because they could travel through areas well away from the fighting, their journey to the medbay was largely unimpeded. Clarke could still hear the sounds of gunshots and yelling and running feet, but they were muted. She kept her pistol drawn and ready, peering around each corner before motioning the others forward, but it was almost possible to believe that the noises were just coming from a movie somebody was playing too loudly.

Until, that was, they reached a bank of windows. It was one of the long viewing galleries Clarke remembered as being popular spaces for parties and dances – more than one of her birthdays had been celebrated looking down on the green and blue globe. Now, however, it provided the perfect tableau for what Arkadia had become.

It was still dark, but the heaviness of the night was fading from the sky, suggesting that dawn wasn't far off. The harsh glow of the lights illuminated a thin line of guards stretched across the main courtyard of the compound. They brandished stun batons and fired warning shots in the air, but the large mass of citizens – Clarke’s people – didn’t stop. Even when the guards rolled canisters of tear gas their way, hissing and belching clouds of stinging smoke, the marchers advanced, covering their faces with their sleeves or tying their shirts around their heads. And to Clarke's amazement, the crowd was  _ growing.  _ For everyone who fell out of step, gasping and coughing, another two or three or four joined their place. Led by its children, Arkadia was rising up against Pike.

As Clarke watched, captivated, the guards were ordered to train their rifles on the oncoming crowd. To her glee, several of them refused, stepping out of the line and running away, leaving it even more ragged than before. But as the rest of the guards hurried to obey the order, she clenched her fists in panic and anger. The majority of the Arkadians had to be unarmed. They would be able to overwhelm the guards eventually, but not before dozens of them were slaughtered.

“Clarke.” It was Kane's voice, and his hand on her shoulder. His eyes were soft and sympathetic, haunted just as hers were, but he told her, “We need to keep moving. We can do more to help them once we've made sure Lincoln is getting treatment.”

Knowing he was right, Clarke wrenched herself away from the window and continued down the darkened corridor. The light from the gallery soon vanished, but the sounds of screaming and the pop-pop-pop of semi-automatics took much longer to fade.

After what felt like a lifetime of dark, twisting corridors, they reached the one that housed the medbay. Light streamed out from its doorway, lifting Clarke’s spirits. They were here at last. They were going to make sure Lincoln was safe, and she would get to see Lexa.

_ Lexa… _

As they neared the entrance, the sound of raised voices made Clarke's blood run cold. Her steps picked up speed, and by time she burst into the medbay she was running full tilt. But no amount of haste or caution could have prepared her for the sight of Pike, his arm around Lexa's neck, pressing a gun to the underside of her mate's chin.

***

Lexa felt as though she was about to jump out of her skin. She was not only an alpha, but a Nightblood as well, trained for as long as she could remember to fight, to sacrifice, to die if necessary in service to her people and her  _ Heda.  _ As  _ Heda  _ herself, she had sent hundreds to die and sacrificed many others, but always with the knowledge that she would willingly sacrifice anything and everything she had for her people. She had been brought up with the understanding that inevitably, the time would come when she would be called upon to do just that.

But this – sitting here and waiting as battle was waged, with no other duty than the preservation of her own life – was something that none of her training had prepared her for. Abby must have seen her restlessness and smelled her futile rage, because when the first casualties were brought in Lexa was allowed to help with small things – passing fresh bandages, swabbing wounds, holding the hand of an Arkadian as the life faded from his eyes – but she was a warrior, a protector, an alpha. Everything she was ached to be out there with her mate, fighting at Clarke's side.

_ Clarke… _

Every time someone brought in another moaning victim of the civil war within Arkadia, Lexa felt her heart seize inside her chest – and then relax when she realized that she did not recognize the face, that the hair was brown instead of blonde, that it was an alpha or a beta. But with each wounded  _ Skayon  _ who entered the medbay, limping themselves or carried by their friends, her calm was frayed a little further. This one might not be Clarke, but what about the next one?

Despite her agitation, Lexa was able to appreciate the cool efficiency with which Abby triaged the victims and worked with her small staff to care for them as effectively as possible. She was in her element, as much in control here in the medbay as Lexa was at the treaty table or on the battlefield. Lexa found herself better understanding where Clarke's remarkable self-possession had come from: with Abby Griffin as a role model, it was still an impressive trait, but not, perhaps, so incredible.

Eventually, the flow of casualties ebbed, and they were able to take a moment to catch their breaths. Lexa hated to admit it, but she needed the respite; she was feeling winded just from standing up for so long. As she waited her turn to use the washbasin to clean the blood off her hands, a wave of dizziness overtook her. Sighing, she put her back against the wall and let herself sink to the floor.

Abby turned, concern in her face and scent, hands still lathered up with soap. “Are you all right?”

Lexa opened her mouth to reply that she was fine, she just needed a moment to recover, when a crackle from the radio on the table near her bed made them both jump. Cursing her weakness, she staggered to her feet, fighting off the dizziness that threatened to swamp her, but Abby was easily able to beat her to the device. “Come in, Marcus,” she was saying, and the slight sharpness in her voice made Lexa tense.

“Abby, we're on our way to you. We were-”

“Where’s Clarke?” both Abby and Lexa barked at the exact same moment. They took a moment to exchange an embarrassed glance before turning back to stare intently at the radio.

“Clarke is fine,” Kane said, a trace of humor under the exhaustion in his voice. Lexa's spirits brightened considerably. If Kane was able to find their concern amusing, he must be telling the truth. “Lincoln took a bullet while we were getting the Grounder prisoners to safety. He’s moving on his own power but he'll need medical attention.”

Lexa glanced nervously towards Octavia, who was pressing a cold compress to a wounded alpha's forehead. When she heard Lincoln's name, the omega had looked up, anguish plain on her face; when Kane said that the injury wasn’t serious, she returned to what she was doing, but her jaw remained tightly clenched. Lexa felt for her; she knew very well how it felt to have a mate in danger and be unable to go to their aid. Sucking in a deep breath and praying that it wouldn’t backfire on her, she crossed the room to where Octavia crouched among the injured and rested a hand on her shoulder. The younger girl looked up in surprise, her eyes widening to see Lexa, but just before the alpha decided that the gesture had been a mistake, Octavia flashed her a very small smile.

“We’re on our way now,” Kane was saying. “We shouldn’t be long. Three knocks, a pause, and then four knocks is the pattern, all right?”

Abby nodded. “We won’t open the door for anyone else.”

The radio clicked off once more. Even though she regretted that Lincoln had been injured, she couldn’t help the eagerness with which she glanced at the door as she resumed the small duties Abby had agreed to give her. She suspected that if the medbay wasn’t so short-staffed, and if they hadn’t been in need of every bed there, she would have been under orders to lie still, but she was grateful to have something to do besides worry. And now she would get to see Clarke, to pull her close and feel the warmth of her body, listen to her breathing and her heartbeat and know that she was alive.

In very little time at all, there was a knock on the door. Lexa looked up from daubing antiseptic paste on an abrasion, heart swelling with joy – but then frowned. The knock was not followed by the pattern Kane had delineated. Octavia, however, was already up and running for the door. Abby's eyes widened.

“Octavia, wait, we don’t know it's-”

But the omega had already unlocked the door and pulled it open.

Pike burst in, face covered in blood and lips curled back in a snarl. Before Octavia could recover from her shock, he backhanded her with his pistol, sending her sprawling against a countertop. Abby reached for her weapon, but Pike was already in motion, kicking the gun out of her hand and making her double over with a brutal punch to the gut. Lexa growled, rounding the corner of a bed, forgetting in her fury over his harsh treatment of her compatriots that she was no match for him in her wounded state, but before she could even aim a strike at him he turned and leveled his gun at her.

The moment Pike realized who she was, his eyes lit up. Lexa barely had time to feel confusion and foreboding at the savage grin on his face before he strode over to her. With rough, harsh hands he yanked her around and put his forearm around her neck, pulling her against his chest with bruising force just short of a chokehold. Lexa’s hands came up automatically to grip at the steel bar of his arm, but she didn’t try to pull it away. She knew half a dozen ways to break his grip and take him down so she could slit his throat with the knife she'd stuck in her boot, but before she could attempt any of them she felt the cold press of metal against the underside of her jaw.

Octavia had recovered and drawn her sword, but as she leveled it at Pike, preparing to attack, he spun both Lexa and himself around, letting everyone in the room get a good look at the predicament she was in.

“Ah-ah-ah,” Pike said, shaking his head at the omega, who had frozen in the midst of her strike. “Back it up, Octavia. Weapons on the ground.”

Octavia didn’t move. “You won't kill her. If you do, the Grounders will obliterate this place.”

“They’ll try,” Pike said evenly. “And when they do, I'll blow them to hell.”

There was a tense standoff for a couple of moments as Octavia considered her options. Lexa attempted to consider hers as well – not that there were many. She was still dazed from being swung around so quickly, and dizzy from the reduced amount of breath Pike was allowing her. She wouldn’t have the strength to disarm him unless the circumstances changed somehow.

_ And I might not have it even then,  _ she thought, struggling against despair. But her doubt was soon whisked away by an iron-hard certainty. Her death would mean the deaths of hundreds, even thousands of her people – and it would mean that her pups would grow up without a sire. She was not going to let that happen – not without fighting with everything she had. But she also had to be realistic about this. She only had enough strength left in her for one attempt. If she failed, there wouldn’t be another chance. The timing would have to be perfect.

Abby clambered to her feet as well, looking fierce but worn. She moved to clutch the counter, bent over slightly, and Lexa burned with sympathy. From the way she was holding herself, Pike's kick had probably cracked a rib or two. “Charles, don't do this,” the older alpha told Pike warningly. “The only way this ends is with all of us dead.”

Pike shook his head. “That’s where you're wrong, Abby. And that's why I’m the Chancellor and you're not. Your shortsightedness led us to this point, and now it's up to me to clean up your mess. I'm building a new world for us here.” His voice rang with conviction, and Lexa had to suppress a sudden urge to bite him. “It’s the only way for us to survive."

“There already is a world here,” Lexa said, fighting for breath. “One that would welcome you as its ally.”

“This world has been trying to kill us from the moment we arrived,” Pike spat.  _ “You  _ have been trying to kill us.”

“And so have you,” Lexa said, struggling to keep her voice even. “But it doesn’t have to be this way. I can still tell my armies to stand down.”

Pike barked out a bitter facsimile of a laugh. “Right, so you can attack us when you know we're weak. You’ve already proven you can't be trusted. The time for that is over.”

At that moment, Clarke burst through the doorway, Lincoln and Kane hot on her heels. Pike swiveled to face her, and as Lexa’s eyes met Clarke’s, she saw the bright blue gaze grow wide with fear.

“Lexa!”

“Stay back,” Pike warned, jabbing the muzzle of his gun just a little harder against Lexa's jaw for emphasis. “Stay back, Clarke, or she dies!”

Clarke's eyes narrowed. “You’re dead, Pike.”

He laughed, a chilling sound of hopeless joy. “Maybe. But at least our people will survive.”

Lexa realized in that moment that here was a man who had given up on his own survival. He believed that he was doing what was right for his people above all else; his own life meant nothing to him as long as his goals were accomplished. They would need to tread very, very carefully with him, or he would make good on his promise to kill her and destroy her people.

So when Pike barked at Clarke and her companions to put their weapons on the ground, and, when they hesitated, repeated the order much more loudly while shaking Lexa until her ears rang, she mustered the strength to croak, “Do as he says, Clarke.”

Her mate's eyes were large and shiny with tears of frustration, anger, and fear. “Lexa-”

“It’s all right,” Lexa told her, struggling to keep her voice calm and even crack a small smile. “I’ll be all right.”

Growling all the while, Clarke slowly knelt and placed her gun on the floor. After a moment, Lincoln and Kane did the same.

“Radios too,” Pike told them. After they unclipped the small plastic boxes and put them on the floor, he told them to stomp them to pieces.

“Thank you,” Pike said when they did so, with only a trace of mockery. “Now, step away from the door and put your backs against the wall. If any of you move, you'll get to watch her head explode.”

Clarke let out a snarl, fists clenched, as she obeyed him. All the while, her eyes burned into Lexa's. The alpha held her gaze, trying to tell her without words  _ Do not be afraid,  _ even as her own stomach trembled with anxiety.

“Now, I’m going to leave,” Pike told them. “I’m not gonna tell you not to follow me because I know you won’t listen, but if I see or hear any of you behind me she’s dead.” His tone was calm, but Lexa could sense the agitation that shivered under his words. He was on the edge of desperation, and that was something she could use.

Pike unwrapped his arm from around Lexa's neck and put his hand on her shoulder, clamping down hard. “As for you, don't try anything. One wrong move and I'll put a bullet in the back of your skull. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Lexa gritted out, hands curling into fists.  _ When I move, it'll be the right one to take you down. _

“Okay then, let's go. Nice and steady and nobody gets hurt.” He pushed her in front of him a pace so she was at arm's length, then began to walk her forward. Lexa moved carefully, dragging her feet as much as she could without being obvious, to give herself time to plan. With each step, the hilt of the knife in her boot pressed into her shin.

_ I won’t be able to move fast enough to get free without him shooting me,  _ she thought as they walked through the darkened corridors of the Ark, listening to the gunshots and screams from outside.  _ And even if I could, he would only have to hit me once to incapacitate me _ . She knew she was capable of taking hits that could fell warriors twice her size, but right now it would only take one glancing blow to dizzy her and send her to her knees.  _ I'll have to do it while he's distracted, somehow,  _ Lexa thought, as Pike squeezed her shoulder and directed her to turn.  _ If something can get his attention directed elsewhere, even for only a moment, I’ll be able to slip his hold and sweep his leg. But the gun…  _ She frowned. Her first order of business needed to be getting the pistol away from him.

The issue that still remained, however, was how Pike was to be distracted before he brought her to wherever he was taking her and accomplished whatever goal he had in mind. She could think of a dozen ways that might be done, but they were all matters of chance. She would just have to be alert to opportunity when it appeared.

After a period spent wending through the dark, twisting warren of the Ark, they turned a corner that led outside. Although dawn had not yet broken, it was near – the lightening of the sky was enough to make Lexa's eyes burn. She pushed past the pain, gritting her teeth and blinking hard. Even though she had an inkling now of the fate toward which Pike was marching her, she found herself eager to see the sky again, to breathe fresh air. She hadn’t in over a week – the longest she could recall in her life.

As Lexa’s vision cleared, she became aware that they were heading towards a pitched battle. The guards of Arkadia - Pike's loyalists, she thought – were fighting a bitter retreat against the advancing citizens. The soldiers had guns, but in hand-to-hand combat that did little for them. They wore body armor and were armed with batons that crackled with electricity and made those they struck fall stunned to the ground, but there were so many more citizens that even with the advantage of better outfitting, they were being pushed back. Lexa could see some of Clarke's friends in the thick of everything, barking orders to attack where the guards' line faltered or calling for more people to bolster their own failing ranks.

The sight warmed her heart – Clarke was right, she realized. Arkadia was waging a civil war for the future of its soul. If its people had truly been in favor of Pike's atrocities, they would not be fighting so hard to depose him now. Lexa could see a number of bodies scattered on the ground, and knew that they could not all be Pike's men.  _ Skaikru  _ were shedding their blood in payment for the three hundred  _ Trikru _ warriors who'd fallen to Pike's bullets. They were proving their willingness to pay the price of peace.

The crack of a bullet split the air, nearly deafening Lexa. It also caused the fighters to look up in their direction, startlement plain on their faces. It took her a moment to realize that Pike had fired his gun in the air.

“Enough!” he shouted. “I’m ending this right now!”

“It's Pike!” yelled one of Clarke's friends, the omega Lexa remembered was called Monty. “Get him!”

A few people in the crowd made to turn and do just that, but Lexa felt the cold press of metal to the back of her head. “Stay back!” Pike growled, stopping her erstwhile rescuers short. “If any of you get any closer, she's dead.”

“Clarke?” Monty said, fury and confusion twisting his face. Lexa let out a startled breath at the sound of her mate's voice from behind her.

“Do what he says, Monty,” Clarke said bitterly. Lexa didn’t dare to turn around and look, but she guessed that Clarke was somewhere back near the entrance to the Ark.

“But Clarke-”

“Monty,  _ please.” _

The hurt and betrayal on Monty's face, and on the faces of so many of Clarke's friends and countrymen, those who had gathered to fight and, if necessary, to die for her cause, made Lexa's heart hurt – as did the desperation in Clarke's voice. She ached to turn to her mate, to tell her it would be all right even though she had no basis for such assurances, but Pike was nudging her forward with the muzzle of his gun.

“Clear a path,” he barked. When the Arkadians were slow to follow his orders, his guards took control, seizing the opportunity of their sudden aimlessness to reassert their dominance. Pushing and shouting, they forced the  _ Skaikru  _ into two ragged groups. Now Lexa could see where Pike was taking her: the gates of Arkadia loomed ahead, and beyond that rose a rough-hewn wooden construction that must be the platform Octavia had said Pike's men were building. Lexa's stomach turned to see it. It was tall enough to give the majority of her army an excellent view of anything that happened on it, and Lexa was sure that they'd all been watching closely since the shooting started.  

Pike ordered that the gates be opened, and a couple of his guards jogged off to the gatehouses. As the metal doors groaned open, Lexa fixed her eyes on the brightening line of the horizon. Dawn would be here very soon. By the time the sun rose, the fate of Arkadia would be decided.

As Pike walked her through the parted throng of Arkadian citizens, Lexa held her head high, refusing to let her growing panic show in her face. With every step she took, her opportunities to turn the tables on Pike narrowed. The mood of the crowd was ugly – Lexa could smell the miasma of their fear and anger even though none of them were near enough to touch. They were a powder keg, awaiting the barest excuse to explode into renewed rebellion. But their leader, Clarke, had asked them to stand down, and they had obeyed – for now.

As she and Pike passed through the gate, Lexa heard the distant sounds of shouts and yells from the forest around Arkadia's meadow. She didn’t turn to look, but she could easily imagine the uproar among the various camps as sentries rushed to alert their commanding officers to the new development. Lexa kept her gaze fixed firmly on the platform they were approaching, listening to the noise of Clarke's people following warily behind them and the beat of drums, rousing the sleeping army to its feet.

Her mind continued to churn with plans for how she could get herself out of this predicament, but she discarded each increasingly unlikely scenario. As Pike marched her up the stairs of the platform, she thought about trying to shove him off – but it would have required twisting in his grasp and she wouldn’t have a good angle. And besides, it wasn’t a long-enough fall to even stun him; he would still have his gun and, presuming he didn’t just kill her before she managed to push him, he'd still be able to shoot her from the ground.

They reached the top of the platform, and Pike spun her to face the assembled Arkadians below. Lexa’s eyes zeroed in on her mate’s face immediately. Clarke looked stricken, miserable and frustrated and terrified all at once. With everything she had, Lexa longed to go to her, but she held herself firm even as her knees tried to buckle with exhaustion and tension. The whole world held its breath. Even the drums from the forest had ceased. Lexa forced herself to breathe deep and slow, loosening her limbs in anticipation of taking any chance that presented itself.

She felt the inflation of Pike's chest, and then he shouted, “The threat to our people posed by the Grounders ends today! I am going to execute their leader, the Commander who sent her armies against us time and time again. With her death, the Grounders will at last see that this land is ours, and no one will ever take it from –  _ argh!” _

A shot rang out and a searing pain lanced through Lexa's bicep, but she was already moving. Twisting out from under Pike's grip, she struck him with every ounce of strength she could muster. Her blow was aimed directly at a pressure point that deadened his arm momentarily, and she heard the gun clatter to the ground. Lexa aimed a kick at where she thought it had fallen, sending it arcing to the ground even as Pike groped for it. Her muscles screamed in protest but Lexa pushed past the pain. She needed to end this now.

Eyes locked on Pike's blood-streaked face, Lexa yanked her knife out of her boot and flung herself forward, pressing it to his throat. He struggled for a moment, but she pressed the blade in harder, opening a thin red line along his skin.

“It’s over,” she told him. “Enough.” Pike snarled at her, teeth bared in a rictus of rage, but he didn’t move.

Silence reigned until Octavia pulled herself up onto the lip of the platform, a pistol in her grip, and Lexa realized where the shot must have come from. Before Lexa could open her mouth to thank her, or ask her what she was doing, she leveled it at Pike's head.

Even through her exhaustion, Lexa's panic spiked. If Octavia killed him here and now, her plans for reconciling her Clans with  _ Skaikru  _ would be dealt a potentially fatal blow. Sensing from the agitation in the omega's scent that it would take very little to set her off, Lexa was careful to keep her voice low and calm.

“What are you doing, Octavia?”

“Finishing this,” the omega said, jaw clenched. The click of the gun being cocked made Lexa jump.

“Stand down,” she said, desperation creeping into her voice despite her best efforts. “You can’t kill him.”

Octavia whirled on her, glaring at her with eyes reddened by exhaustion and pain. “Why the hell shouldn’t I?” she shouted, hand shaking on her gun. “He killed three hundred of your warriors! He nearly killed my brother, my mentor, my friends, and my mate! He's burned down everything we've tried to build here. He deserves death!”

“He does,” Lexa told her, “but you're not the only one to whom it is owed.  _ Jus drein, jus daun.” _

Octavia's eyes narrowed. “I thought that wasn’t the law anymore.”

Lexa allowed herself to look down at the man kneeling at her feet. “Pike will be the last one tried under the old law. He will face the traditional punishment for what he did, at the hands of those he has wronged.” She looked up at Octavia again, noting the understanding dawning out of the confusion on her face, before she pronounced Pike's sentence:  _ “Wamplei kom thauz kodon.” _

Octavia's eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open just a bit before she pressed it shut. With a firm nod, the omega slid her gun back into her belt and said, “It will be as you command,  _ Heda.” _

Gun still trained on Pike, Octavia stepped back to the edge of the platform, but Lexa could tell that she was not going to use it unless he tried something. Feeling a rush of relief that made her knees threaten to give out, Lexa turned to address the crowd, which had steadily been growing more restive since she'd convinced Octavia to stand down. Her heart sank as she tried to find Clarke among them and failed, but she couldn’t fault her mate for turning away from what had seemed certain to be her death. As she looked down at the Arkadians, observing the mixture of confusion and anger and wonder on their faces, she tried to think of what she could say to them that would fit the gravity of such a moment.

In the end, all she could think to say was, “It's over.” Her legs were going to fold up under her any moment; she had to figure out how she could get down from the platform without anyone seeing her weakness. But as she turned to make the attempt, dizziness swept over her and she felt herself begin to fall. She was going to topple to the ground, utterly ruining any claim she had to the strength it took to rule.

A warm arm was around her waist, steadying her while presenting a show of solidarity. Clarke's scent filled her nose, and Lexa's relief was so great that she shut her eyes for just a moment, basking in the sensation of being by her mate's side at last. Then Clarke took Lexa's hand, the one that still held the dagger, and raised it high into the air. The light of dawn gleamed off its blade.

“Hail, warriors of the Thirteen Clans!” Clarke shouted, in a voice that could be heard throughout the valley.

Thousands of throats roared back the response: “Hail, Commander of the Blood!”

And then as Lexa watched, the armies of the Twelve Clans sank to their knees in a great, rippling wave. Looking down from the awesome sight, she could tell that  _ Skaikru  _ were bewildered and afraid, staring at the great mass of warriors as they knelt before their  _ Heda  _ and wondering what to do. Lexa was still stunned by what had happened herself and couldn’t think of what to tell them, but she didn’t have to.

Clarke gave her arm a gentle squeeze, and Lexa turned to see a question in her eyes. Without thinking, she nodded, and Clarke took a step away. She held Lexa's gaze for just a moment and then, as she had the night she walked before the Coalition as  _ Wanheda,  _ the Commander of Death, Clarke sank to her knees and bowed her head.

Whispers and murmurs sprang up in the silence, and Lexa wrenched her eyes away from where they'd been captivated by her mate's display of submission to see  _ Skaikru  _ haltingly following their leader's example. Some of them did it with confusion or fear on their faces, others with curled lips or sullen resentment, but one by one, all of them knelt before her.

Lexa's stomach trembled at the power of that moment. The leaders of the Twelve Clans had paid her homage on her Ascension Day, and it had been breathtaking, but now the entire world seemed to stand still. And yet something felt off. Lexa's brow furrowed in confusion, but then she realized what it was.

_ “Wanheda  _ has done all of us a great service, delivering this enemy of the Coalition to justice so that it may yet be made whole,” she shouted, layering her voice with alpha overtones that made it ring with power. Lexa looked down to see Clarke staring up at her, wide-eyed, and she reached out her hand for her mate. After a moment of hesitation, Clarke took it, and Lexa drew her to her feet.

_ “Wanheda  _ kneels for no one,” she called, so that all the world could hear and know that Clarke Griffin stood at her side as her equal, and would forever more. The omega's eyes shone as she nodded, accepting and understanding the gesture.

Lexa swept her gaze across her people, the Twelve Clans of the ground and the Thirteenth, who had fallen from the sky and changed the world.

_ “Ai laik Heda, en disha ste ai hedon _ :  _ gonplei-de kom Graun en Skai ste odon!”  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigedasleng:
> 
> Wamplei kom thauz kodon: Death by a thousand cuts
> 
> Ai laik Heda, en disha ste ai hedon: gonplei-de kom Graun en Skai ste odon: I am the Commander, and this is my decree: the war between Ground and Sky is over!


	31. Genesis 4:15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the Lord set a mark upon Cain, lest any finding him should kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all...happy birthday Heda Leksa! 
> 
> Second...we're SO CLOSE kru! I'm thinking there's going to be one more chapter wherein Clarke and Lexa return to Polis and deal with what - or who - they find there, and then there'll be an epilogue with pup fluff. But right now... Pike gets his.

As Clarke began the process of getting them down off the platform, Lexa leaned on her so heavily that both of them nearly toppled over. It took Octavia hustling over and subtly bolstering Lexa's other side to keep them from losing their balance and their dignity. Only now did Clarke realize just how tired she was. She hadn’t slept in nearly twenty-four hours and she was running on desperation and adrenaline, and  _ she _ wasn't still recovering from a bullet wound. As soon as they were on the ground, she turned to Lexa to demand that she go straight to bed, but the alpha was already issuing orders for Pike and his few surviving supporters to be taken into custody. Clarke could only stare as the Arkadians snapped to obey the Commander.

She supposed it made sense. An alpha who could get an entire army to bow down before her had to be a formidable figure indeed. But what really took the cake was when Lexa ordered Octavia to go to her army with a message that each Clan was to send representatives to the gates of Arkadia to work out the details of an armistice at sundown. 

“As you command,  _ Heda,”  _ the warrior murmured. She hesitated for only a moment before dashing off to the stable on the north side of the compound. 

Clarke raised an eyebrow. “You know, I think she was about to salute you.” 

Lexa just looked at her. The only thing that suggested the mask of  _ Heda  _ was anything but permanent was the slight quiver of her mouth. Clarke knew that if Lexa was letting her see even that, she must be at the end of her strength. 

“I just meant that I could probably count the amount of times I’ve seen Octavia do what she’s told without putting up a fight on one hand,” she hastened to explain. 

Lexa flashed her a brief, exhausted smile before turning to Kane and beginning to issue orders for the disposition of the treaty table and those who would sit at it. Clarke badly wanted to ask her how she was still  _ standing  _ after everything they’d been through, but she realized she already knew the answer: 

_ Because I am  _ Heda,  _ and I have to.  _

Even Abby listened when Lexa told her to check on Pike, to make certain that the wound he’d sustained when Octavia’s bullet grazed his temple wasn’t serious. The older alpha raised an eyebrow at the command, and Clarke thought,  _ Aha, finally!  _ But to her shock her mother simply nodded and hurried off. 

_ That's it,  _ Clarke thought.  _ If I don’t stop her, nobody will.  _ When Lexa turned to Kane, who was next in line, Clarke steered her aside before she could open her mouth. 

“Enough,” she said quietly, knowing that the alpha's pride wouldn’t allow her to listen to Clarke if Lexa knew they were being overheard. “You need rest.”

“There is much to do—”

“And it'll get done,” Clarke told her, putting as much omega persuasion into her scent and voice as she could. At this point she wasn’t trying to be subtle about it; the dark circles under Lexa’s eyes, the heavy drag of her chest as she breathed, and the way she leaned a little harder on Clarke’s arm with each passing minute told her that the Commander was well beyond subtlety. She could sense Lexa’s resolve softening, but the stubborn thing still opened her mouth to argue. Clarke cut her off. “Trust me, okay? Your generals won’t be here until sundown. I’ll make sure everything’s handled.” 

Lexa rumbled a bit with displeasure. “You need to rest too. Your mother said it wouldn’t be good for…” She cut herself off, glancing at the people bustling around them—many of whom Clarke suspected didn’t exactly have a good reason for being here, in the atrium of the Ark, except to try and sneak a glimpse of the Commander who had managed to stop a war—and then stepped in a little nearer. This close, she was able to rub her thumb across Clarke’s stomach surreptitiously, making her meaning clear. The omega repressed a shudder. 

“I’ll sleep too,” she promised, knowing by the heaviness of her own eyelids that in an hour or so, she wouldn’t have much choice in the matter. “I’ll just make sure that nobody’s gonna blow themselves up and then I’ll be right by your side.” 

Lexa looked like she wanted to whine in protest, but she managed to hold herself back. “All right.” 

Clarke managed a smile, the first real one she’d felt cracking the grimness that hovered over her face since the bullet. “Relax, Lexa. You’re not acting like someone who just saved the world.”

But the alpha didn’t return it. “Because we didn’t. Not yet.”

***

Clarke managed to stave off the line of people all clamoring for orders and advice long enough to get Lexa into the medbay. Her mother had not yet returned from inspecting Pike, but she was able to pass Lexa off to Jackson, who had taken charge in Abby’s absence. After instructing the other omega to make sure the wound on Lexa’s arm was seen to, and muttering when the alpha’s back was turned that if she tried to stay awake he was more than welcome to surreptitiously slip a sedative into her IV, she steeled herself to face the music. 

To Clarke’s astonishment, her friends had arrived while she was conferring with Jackson and dispensed with a lot of the crowd themselves. She watched as Monty rounded up the kitchen crew to make breakfast for everyone, Harper arranged for the distribution of medical supplies for those who weren’t wounded enough to require treatment in the infirmary, and Monroe and Miller began gathering a party to see to the dead. By the time they were finished, Kane was the only one left standing near, a question on his face. “Well, it seems my work here is done,” she quipped to him, and he gave her a small smile, but it disappeared quickly. 

“Not quite.” 

Clarke followed his gaze to where Bellamy stood next to the prisoners, the few of Pike's supporters who'd survived the battle. They were on their knees, hands on their heads, surrounded by Bellamy and Miller and several other Delinquents. They looked like they’d been roughed up a bit, though Clarke couldn’t be sure—they might have sustained their cuts and bruises during the battle. 

“These are the remaining survivors who committed the massacre,” Kane told her quietly. 

His words transported Clarke instantly back to the moment she and Lexa had seen the hill of dead, had felt the hopes and dreams for peace they'd carried all the way from Polis slipping away on a tide of blood. She felt like she was going to be sick, but she swallowed back the bile that rose in her throat and said, “Lock them up in the Grounders' cell. The Commander will deal with them when she sentences their leader.” She didn’t know what Lexa would decide to do with them, but right now she couldn’t bring herself to care. They were her people, but they had brought this on themselves. 

“Let's go,” Bellamy said roughly, nudging the nearest to her feet with the muzzle of his gun. The group turned, preparing to set off for the lockup, but Kane said, “Wait.”. He looked heartsick, and for a moment Clarke didn’t know what his problem was. When she understood, she almost wished she didn’t. 

“Bellamy.” Her voice was quiet, but she knew he heard her anyway. He stopped, his shoulders stiffening. After a long moment, he drew in a deep breath and turned around. There was fear in his eyes, but also resignation, and in a way that was worse. Clarke didn’t want to, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. “You too,” she said, her voice cracking. 

Bellamy's eyes widened and his mouth opened as though to protest, but at the last moment he thought better of it and nodded. Unslinging his rifle from over his shoulder, he handed it to Miller, who took it, looking shell-shocked. Kane nodded at Clarke. “I know it's hard, but you’re doing the right thing,” he told her, low enough that only she would hear. She couldn’t make herself respond, only stood there as he ordered everyone to the prison block, watching her friend, her right hand, march off to meet his fate.

Clarke returned to the medbay, feeling like the marrow in her bones had been replaced with lead. Her soul felt cracked in a million places, held together only by the thinnest strands. Her spirits brightened a little when she saw her mother, moving briskly among the injured and those caring for them, dispensing assistance and advice in equal measure. She thought about asking Abby to give her work to do, something to keep her hands busy and hopefully stave off the gnawing of her mind, but the alpha took one look at her and dismissed that idea out of hand.

“Absolutely not,” she told Clarke, with a set to her mouth and tilt to her chin that instantly transformed Clarke back into a nine-year-old pup begging for a later bedtime. “You look dead on your feet. I doubt I could trust you with holding a tray, let alone trying to suture a wound.” 

Clarke bristled out of habit, but she could feel her body trembling with exhaustion as she stood there, and she knew her mom was right. “I'm not leaving Lexa,” she warned Abby, crossing her arms in a show of determination that was also meant to keep her mother from seeing her hands shaking. To her surprise, Abby didn’t challenge her. 

“Go sleep with her, then.” At Clarke's wide-eyed stare, Abby snorted. “What do I have to be worried about? She already bit you and got you pregnant. Besides, we need all of our beds for the wounded.” 

“Jesus, Mom, say it a little louder,” Clarke growled, heat rising to her cheeks. But she was already hustling past her mother, over to where she could just see the curve of Lexa’s shoulder rising and falling gently in slumber. Her being ached to be with her mate, to curl up against her and feel her breathing steadily, to hear the slow, rhythmic reassurance of her heartbeat, to drift into her own dreams on the wash of Lexa's scent. 

Before she could round the corner of the row of beds, she felt her mother's hands tugging her gently into a hug. Clarke was not so far gone that she couldn’t curtail her instinctive impulse to snap and snarl at the person keeping her from her mate. There was still comfort, after all, in Abby's smell. It spoke to her of a different kind of love, a home that she didn't necessarily call her own anymore, but would always be there for her when she needed it. 

Abby let her go after a couple of seconds, pushing her in the direction of Lexa's bed. “Rest now,” she told Clarke, her eyes shining and her voice oddly thick. “I’ll wake you both when you're needed.” 

Clarke nodded, slipping her boots off. “Thanks, Mom,” she said, and if her voice was a little bit rough as well, who could blame her? But as she settled herself along her sleeping mate, pressing up against Lexa’s back and draping an arm around her waist, she couldn’t help but imagine that the light seeping through her shuttered eyelids was pouring through the cracks in her broken soul as it slowly started to mend. 

***

Lexa awakened to the touch of a hand on her shoulder. She could tell by the tentative way the fingers pressed against her that it wasn’t Clarke's, and she was already reaching for the knife on her bedside table when Abby Griffin’s face swam into view. 

“It’s just me,” the older alpha said, in a low voice that intimated others in the room had not yet awakened. Lexa nodded, and then kept shaking her head. After the initial burst of instinctual adrenaline had passed, she felt like she hadn’t fully awakened yet either. Her head felt thick and heavy, and as she moved to sit up her limbs were slow and sluggish. It felt less like waking up than like clawing her way to the surface of a lake. 

After a week of confinement, it was singularly refreshing to be able to simply sit up and swing her legs over the edge of the bed without having to twist her wrist awkwardly to fit a key into her handcuffs, or to wait until she was given the all-clear that she could get up and walk around without worry that someone would come in and see her free. 

“Is everything all right?” she asked when the fog in her head had cleared somewhat. She was instantly struck by the absurdity of that question—how could everything be all right, when Arkadia had just been the site of a civil war that had threatened to metastasize into a massacre?—but to her relief, Abby took it at face value. 

“Things are tense, but it's quiet for the moment,” the older alpha told her, folding her arms like she needed something to do with her hands. On a shared impulse, they both looked at Clarke. The omega was still asleep on the bed, the enormous burden she bore set down for a moment of peace. That burden would have to be shouldered again soon, Lexa knew, but she couldn’t help being greedy for just a few more seconds in which she didn’t have to see Clarke under its weight. 

She reached out and brushed away a strand of hair fluttering in the slight breeze of her mate's breath, and to her surprise she saw Abby's hand hovering a few inches away, just a second slower to do the same. She blushed when her eyes met Abby's again, a look of sadness and sweetness and understanding on her face that made Lexa's chest tighten curiously. 

“I never meant for any of this to happen,” she blurted out, and felt herself flush even hotter with regret a moment later. She wasn’t sure what she herself meant by it—the war between her Coalition and  _ Skaikru,  _ the massacre that had led to it, the betrayal at the Mountain and Clarke's victory in the face of certain defeat that had led to her veneration as a near-deity—maybe even all of it. She had done what she thought was right for her people first on every occasion, and, when any leeway was left, for Clarke, until the circumstances had forced her to start molding those two impetuses together. But if nothing else, she knew for sure that she didn’t regret mating with Clarke, and creating the new lives slumbering in their mother's womb. 

“I just wanted to keep her safe,” she told Abby, who was still looking at her unreadably, but with a knowing set to her mouth that suggested she knew much of Lexa's thoughts. 

To her surprise, Abby just looked down again at her daughter, brushing her fingers along the omega's cheek where the golden strand had lain a moment earlier. “I know,” she murmured, and Lexa felt that painful lurch again, as though her heart was trying to grow a size larger in her chest. 

Clarke stirred then, eyes fluttering open and taking in her mother and her mate with a sleepy, bemused smile—until they shot wide in sudden panic. “What happened?” she asked breathlessly, lurching upright. “Did I miss the summit? Is everything—”

“It's fine,” Abby said, and this time Lexa let her be the first to put a calming hand on Clarke's arm. “I was just waking you up to let you know that Octavia was back. The leaders should be here in about half an hour.”

Lexa nodded. “I should speak to Octavia before they arrive. Just to make sure we won't be walking into a fight.” 

She realized a moment later that her syntax had put her inadvertently on the side of  _ Skaikru,  _ and it made her jaw tighten, but she refused to let herself regret it.  _ There aren’t any different sides anymore, and if there are, it's my job to break them down.  _

“I’m coming with you,” Clarke said, scrambling to get up, but when she reached her feet she abruptly sat down again, looking dazed. Lexa shared a concerned glance with Abby, and then shook her head.

“No. I need you to make sure that when the delegates arrive, our people are ready, and they won’t be greeted with guns or an angry crowd. Please, Clarke.” She phrased it not as an entreaty, but as a request, layering it with just the barest amount of alpha overtones and praying it wouldn't backfire on her.

Clarke turned a look on her that suggested she knew exactly what Lexa was about, but she was too tired to fight it now. “Fine, but you better eat something. Mom, do we have any food? I would honestly kill someone for some Frosted Mini Wheats.” 

The food for which Clarke was prepared to murder turned out to be some form of grain processed into small squares and topped with a sugary coating. It tasted to Lexa like someone had poured honey onto dust, but she wolfed down her portion anyway under the watchful eyes of both Griffins. Their suspicious observation made her want to growl that she was not a pup, and was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, but the odd feeling of tenderness remained beneath it all, keeping her quiet. And besides, she  _ was  _ hungry.

Clarke radioed Octavia, and after a few minutes she met Lexa in the cool, dim corridor outside the medbay. The younger omega didn’t miss Lexa glancing longingly at the fading sunlight stretching into the atrium just beyond, and with a hint of a smirk suggested that they might conduct their briefing outside. 

It turned out that Octavia's arrival with Lexa's orders had sent the warchiefs into something of a state of confusion. They had sent messengers for the Ambassadors of their respective Clans, who were still ensconced in Polis, the second after Lexa's victory over Pike, but it would be at least half a day until the first of them arrived. However, their armies were growing restive and after some debate—Octavia confessed she had fallen asleep during the fourth hour of it, startling a chuckle out of Lexa—they determined that they could serve as representatives in their Ambassadors' absence. They would be arriving at the gate with their staffs within the hour. 

Lexa thanked her, then asked if she could find Kane so she might be updated on the progress of the treaty room. She called him on her radio, and he arrived while Lexa was still pondering what  _ Skaikru  _ might accept in trade for the installation of a network of these devices in Polis.  _ Titus won't like them, _ she thought,  _ but their usefulness would surely prove… _

The bottom dropped out of her stomach.  _ Titus.  _ Something would have to be done about him, the man who had shot her and nearly taken her life. Justice would have to be served. But the thought of doing so in the case of her  _ Fleimkepa,  _ her  _ ticha,  _ the last person alive who had known her before she became Commander, made her want to shrink away from the duty. Of all the horrible things she had had to do in service of her people, this, somehow, seemed beyond imagining. He was  _ Titus!  _ How was she supposed to sit in judgement of— 

“Commander?” 

Marcus Kane's voice, quietly deferent, pulled her from her swiftly spiraling thoughts. She turned to look at him, giving him a swift smile of apology. “I’m sorry, Marcus. I was elsewhere.” 

He nodded. “It’s understandable, Commander. You've been through a lot since your…arrival here.” 

She should have found his allusion, however veiled, to her weakness to be insulting, but the kindness and sympathy with which it was delivered blunted her anger before it had a chance to manifest. She gave him another brief smile in acknowledgement. “Thank you. However, there is much to do. Is the place where we are to work out the details of your Clan's surrender and reintegration to the Coalition ready?” 

“Yes, Commander. We've set up our old Council chambers for the purpose, and we'll have volunteer guards to keep out any members of the public. Our kitchen staff has also prepared refreshments, so that no one is left negotiating while hungry.”

If Kane found her abrupt businesslike turn disorienting, he gave no sign. Lexa found herself thinking that given Clarke's status as her mate, there was no way she could return to Polis as Ambassador for her people—her interests would be too conflicted in the public’s eyes, even if she had long practice in separating her feelings from her duty. Marcus Kane's obvious skill as a diplomat, as well as his level-headedness, might serve  _ Skaikru  _ well in Clarke's place. 

_ “Mochof,”  _ she told him, remembering that he had acquired some of their language.

_ “Pro,”  _ he said, smiling and dipping his head. “It appears we are just in time, however.” 

Lexa turned to follow his gaze along the ridge above them, and saw several parties of riders breaking away from the glow of torches lining the treeline. With growing trepidation, she counted twelve converging on Arkadia. They were not warbands, but she couldn’t help tensing for the fight she knew was coming. It would take all her skill to prevent it from devolving into actual violence. 

As though she had sensed Lexa's distress, Clarke appeared by her side, the sleep rapidly dissipating from her face as she watched the generals approach. “Guess it's time, huh?” she said quietly. 

“Is everything ready?”

A war of determination and exhaustion was in Clarke’s eyes when they met hers. “As ready as it’ll ever be.” 

Lexa nodded, and they turned back to watch as the warchiefs of the Twelve Clans made their way down to Arkadia. 

***

The generals of the Twelve Clans met with the de facto leadership of the Thirteenth in what had once been the Ark's council chamber. Clarke couldn’t get over the incongruity of the  _ wormana  _ crowding into the room with their staffs, awkwardly arranging themselves around the table that she remembered crawling around under with Wells when they were pups, pretending to spy on their parents' council meetings. The sight of a couple dozen Grounder warriors, dressed in armor and nervously gripping the handles of axes and swords as they glanced around their unfamiliar surroundings nervously, would have made her want to giggle if they all hadn’t been glaring at the  _ Skaikru  _ delegation.

She stood with her mother, Raven, Miller, and Kane at one end of the table, watching them file in, muttering and growling as they jockeyed for position. Eventually, the generals had all found places, and their staffs pressed themselves against the walls, trying to make themselves as inconspicuous as a bunch of hulking alphas sweating out agitated pheromones could be. 

Their bulk was made even more ridiculous by the sight of Lexa entering, flanked by a pair of massive guards; she looked small and pale and exhausted under the fluorescent lights, surrounded by warriors painted to look ferocious and armed to the teeth. And yet the moment she arrived, the restive assembly snapped to attention, all eyes fixed on the thin, tired alpha who still somehow managed to project power and dominance in spades, even as she dropped heavily into her chair in a manner Clarke suspected wasn't voluntary. She ached to go to her mate, to press herself close and offer the comfort of her scent, but she knew she couldn’t. Any sign of favoritism on Lexa's part would threaten to derail the negotiations. 

Even though Lexa maintained an admirable nonpartisanship throughout, those negotiations were long and drawn-out and a curious mix of boring and deadly. In her tiredness, Clarke couldn’t help finding the concept of yawning while the  _ Trikru wormana  _ demanded payment for his lost brothers and sisters in arms in blood somewhat amusing, but here she was. Lexa managed to keep ahold of the situation, however, promising retribution and sanctions while refusing to let her Clans’ demands go too far. Clarke could tell by looking at her mother’s face that she wasn’t happy about the concessions, and she argued furiously against a few of them, but eventually they worked out a compromise that all parties hated but seemed inclined to accept. 

Despite the insistence of several Clans on a Coalition-appointed governor for Arkadia, Lexa stipulated that they would be allowed the ability to govern themselves—at first with a leader chosen from among  _ Skaikru  _ by the Commander, but, if they managed to keep to the terms of the agreement for five years, they would be given the opportunity to elect one of their own. They would, however, be under close scrutiny by  _ Heda  _ herself. She expected monthly reports on the colony’s progress, and would make several personal visits during the course of the year. 

In addition, there was to be a treaty of mutual defense between the Tree and Sky Peoples, owing to the fact that  _ Skaikru’s  _ actions had largely decimated the  _ Trikru  _ army. In return for  _ Trikru’s _ help in defending their borders,  _ Skaikru  _ would work closely with them to expand their knowledge of the  _ tek  _ at  _ Skaikru’s  _ disposal. The  _ Azgeda  _ general was the most strenuous objector to this stipulation, but Lexa held firm. A representative of  _ Trikru  _ would also reside within Arkadia to both ensure that the channel of communication between their two nations was kept open, and to make certain that the armistice was respected.

The mood in the room was an ugly mix of exhaustion and barely-restrained enmity, and it was only a matter of time before one or both erupted and derailed the whole process. Clarke could feel her mother vibrating with barely suppressed growls as Lexa announced the terms, so she leaned close to her mother and murmured, “Look, Mom, I don’t like it either, but Lexa’s doing the best she can, okay? She has to be fair to everybody, and we have to make some concessions so they don’t say ‘fuck it’ and decide to attack us anyway.” 

“In what world is it  _ fair  _ that we don’t get to choose our own leader?” Abby hissed back, but when Lexa finished rattling off the list of stipulations that she had scratched out on a legal pad Kane had found for her and then asked for any objections, the older alpha kept her silence. Lexa stared around the room, meeting the eyes of each general. 

“Do I have your word that your Clans will agree to abide by the terms of this treaty?” she asked. They shifted and growled under her firm stare, but one by one each of them muttered  _ “Sha.”  _ Then Lexa turned to address Abby and Kane, although her gaze kept flicking over to meet Clarke’s as though she couldn’t help herself. Clarke understood. Lexa had been forced to split her attention a dozen ways during the past six hours, while Clarke had barely been able to take her eyes off her mate. Lexa at the negotiating table was very different from Lexa on the battlefield or presiding over her council. Her voice was quiet but her words were sharp, cutting through objections and hardheadedness and stupidity just as her blade cut through her enemies. There were few overt displays of dominance, and yet Lexa was just as compelling, just as powerful, just as demanding of total respect and obedience. Despite her own exhaustion, Clarke had felt herself getting wetter by the minute, and was sure that Lexa had to be able to smell her arousal by now. 

Clarke barely registered her mother’s growled assent to Lexa's question, or Kane's rising to address the assembly and deliver a promise of cooperation and reconciliation, and to express a hope that despite its inauspicious beginnings, this treaty might be a seed that would prove fruitful in the fertile soil of their goodwill and harmony, or some other such earnest nonsense. The rational part of Clarke’s brain that nattered at her to pay attention was shutting down. All she could think about was how exhausted and horny she was. 

Finally, Kane wrapped it up, to a smattering of polite applause and approving rumbles which, Clarke supposed, was the best they were going to get under the circumstances. But the noise dissipated swiftly, leaving behind it an air of anticipation, as though the room was collectively holding its breath. In her tiredness, Clarke couldn’t think what they might have failed to cover for a moment – until Lexa spoke.

“Now,” the alpha said, sounding just as tired as Clarke was, “we must judge the perpetrators of the massacre on  _ Trikru  _ for their crimes. I am informing you of my decisions in advance so that there will be no confusion.” Lexa's inflection, and the hard look she leveled at those seated around the table, told Clarke that by confusion, she meant dissent. “I will deliver the full sentences at dawn tomorrow, before witnesses from every Clan. Is that understood?” 

There was a low chorus of  _ “Sha, Heda,”  _ but the looks on some of the warriors' faces made the hair on the back of Clarke's neck rise. While most remained in their seats, looking solemn and grave, others were leaning forward eagerly, lips peeled back over their teeth.  _ Eager for blood,  _ she couldn’t help thinking, clenching her fists under the table. There was no love lost between her and Pike. He had nearly killed her mate, and had been responsible for the deaths of several of her friends, as well as the massacre that nearly resulted in her people being wiped out. If it were up to her, she would take him out to the woods and put a bullet in his skull. But that didn’t mean she was looking forward to what she knew was in store. 

***

Lexa told the group what she had in mind for Pike and each of his remaining supporters. Few of them liked it, but Lexa would brook no argument. She had made her decision, and it had been hard, but it was the only way she could see for her people and  _ Skaikru  _ to get the justice each deserved, and move forward. When she told them of her intended judgement for Bellamy, Clarke turned her face away, but she did not demur.

One by one, she looked at them all and, through her voice and her scent and her position as Commander _,_ she extracted their oaths to abide by her decisions. It was the hardest on Abby to lower her head and mutter the words, but the older alpha did it anyway, bitterness plain in her tone. But it was done, and Lexa dismissed them all, to partake of the meal that _Skaikru’s_ kitchens had prepared and then to return on the morrow with their full entourages so that they could witness the judgement of _Heda._

That was how she found herself the next morning, standing in a crisp, chilly dawn, atop the platform that Pike had built for her execution. Her generals and their staffs, as well as what seemed to be the majority of Arkadia’s population, stood below, forced to mingle by the grim desire to see what was to happen. Lexa was not unaware of the bitter irony inherent in her position, preparing to deliver judgement in the place that had been created for her own. 

A tree jutted through a hole sawed in the center of the platform beside her, waiting for an occupant. It had been cut and stripped and embedded in the ground that very morning just before sunrise, Lexa knew, as the sound had alerted her that her night of fitful sleeplessness by Clarke’s side was nearly over. She couldn’t help scanning the faces in the crowd—hopeful, expectant, grim, sullen—to find her mate. She stood by her mother’s side, and as much as Lexa might have liked to have her up here, for moral support if for nothing else, she knew this was something she had to do on her own. 

_ And besides, you don’t know if she would even agree to stand up here with you… _

Clarke hadn’t said anything, but Lexa could tell that she didn’t approve of what was to be done. Lexa had expected to have to weather her ire, and had been bracing herself for it when Clarke lingered after she dismissed her generals from Arkadia's council room. Pain and hope had mingled in her mate's eyes, and Lexa feared that she might ask for leniency in Bellamy's sentence, leniency she couldn’t grant. But instead, she had asked for nothing except that she might be allowed to deliver news of his fate to him beforehand, to prepare him and make certain that he would accept it gracefully. Despite the coil of fear in her gut and the snap of her alpha that it was too dangerous, Lexa agreed. Clarke had returned after midnight and slid into bed next to Lexa with a sigh, and they had both pretended to fall asleep. 

Even though she was fearful of what she might find there, Lexa caught Clarke's eye, needing to see acceptance or at least understanding before she did what had to be done. She found both in her Sky girl's shadowed, red-rimmed gaze, but the omega looked away before too long. Lexa sighed, feeling the weight on her shoulders settle just a little more heavily. They would have to talk about this before long, she knew, and reconcile what it meant for them, for their relationship…but right now, she had her duty to her people. 

_ Our people,  _ Lexa told herself, and then drew a deep, shuddering breath. 

_ “Lid fingadon in.”  _

A low murmur swept through the crowd as the first of the accused, Pike's collaborators in the massacre of the  _ Trikru  _ army, were led by  _ Skaikru  _ guards from the high-walled wooden stockade where they’d been transferred early that morning, to prevent both assassination and escape attempts. They were made to kneel at the base of the platform, as there were too many of them to all fit on it with her. Lexa made certain to look at the face of each one before delivering her verdict. There she saw fear, despair, anger, rebelliousness, even a desperate, aching hope. She pushed back both her anger and her sympathy behind the wall of duty before she spoke. 

“For the crimes of treachery and mass slaughter committed in the service of the traitor Pike, you would be sentenced to death under our old law: blood must have blood.” She spoke in  _ Gonasleng,  _ knowing that the majority of the  _ Kyongedon  _ below were warriors. The decision had been a hard one, and she could tell from the faces of her people that it was not popular, but she felt that the accused deserved to be given their sentences in their own tongue. 

As she spoke of death, she could hear gasps and murmurs from the group below, could see trembling limbs and ashen faces. But she continued, “However, that law no longer holds. This is a new world, and it has a new law:  _ jus drein nou jus daun.  _ Blood must not have blood.” 

Now the dismayed shouts and mutters came from her people. They had come here to see the murderers punished, and now their  _ Heda— _ the ultimate arbiter of justice among their people—was announcing that it would not be so? Before the rumbles of discontent could build, Lexa continued, “However, just because I will not take your lives does not mean you will not face punishment for your crimes. You will be banished henceforth from Coalition lands. You will be escorted to the border of your choosing, and if you are found within my boundaries ever again, your lives will be forfeit.” 

Amid a swell of noise, everyone speaking at once with surprise and dismay and frustration, Lexa nodded to the guards. They marched the prisoners back to their enclosure, to await their journey to the Coalition's borders. Lexa knew that most of her people were aware that such a judgement amounted to a death sentence: there was a reason why few lived beyond her boundaries. The wasteland was harsh, inhospitable, and few survived, let alone thrived. She had heard the stories, of course, of the City of Light…but they were nothing more than stories. No one living had returned from there with confirmation of its existence. 

Lexa sucked in a breath, steeling herself. Of the men and women who had knelt before the platform, only one remained. His dark head was bowed to the ground, and Lexa wondered what she would see when she raised it: defiance? Fury? Despair?

  
“Bellamy Blake,” she said, loudly enough for her voice to be heard over the crowd.

The susurrus quieted almost instantly, leaving the impression of a world holding its breath for the words of its  _ Heda. _ Bellamy looked up, and what Lexa saw in his eyes surprised her: acceptance. There was pain to go with it, certainly, but somehow Clarke had managed to convince him that his fate was a fair one. 

Lexa nodded, and the alpha rose stiffly to his feet. 

“You were instrumental in planning and executing the rebellion that overthrew the traitor Pike,” Lexa told him. Mutters of discontent erupted before she'd even finished her sentence, but she continued speaking over them. “However, those deeds do not erase the part you played in the massacre of  _ Trikru's _ warriors. Therefore, I sentence you to labor in an effort to right the wrongs you have done. You will go to each of the families of the three hundred warriors who were slain that day, and offer them your assistance. Only when each of them has decided that your debt is paid shall this sentence be lifted from you, and you will be a free man again.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Do you accept this charge?” 

“I do,” Bellamy said hoarsely.

“Then come forward and receive my mark. So long as you bear its protection, no one shall be permitted to harm you.”

Bellamy looked ashen, but he stepped forward. The first riders had come that morning from Polis, bearing her sash and star of office; she wore the first, but had ordered that the second be welded to the end of a poker that would serve as a makeshift  _ fleimstika. _ A guard had thrust it into one of the torches burning at either side of the platform, and now it was glowing brightly. 

Bellamy screamed as the beta woman pressed it to his forehead.

He was only saved from collapsing by the arms of his guards, who held him up even as his knees buckled. Lexa's stomach heaved at the sickening sizzle and smell of burning flesh, but she swallowed down the bile that rose in her throat, refusing to let anyone see. Depending on how many of the warriors had families, and how those families felt about the lives that Bellamy had stolen from them, her judgment might as well amount to a life sentence for him. Bellamy had to be aware of this, but he gave no sign as the guards half-led, half-dragged him away to where Abby waited to see to his burn. 

And yet, as difficult as Bellamy's punishment had been to mete out, the worst was yet to come. She nodded to Marcus Kane, and said, “Bring forth the traitor Pike.” 

Kane made his way stiffly to the stockade, where two columns of guards waited—one _Trikru,_ and one _Skaikru._ It had been a difficult compromise to get each side to accept—Shingto, the _Trikru_ _wormana_ in Indra's absence, had been adamant that _Skaikru_ could not be trusted not to stage an escape, and Abby had been just as adamant that her people would do no such thing, and the very suggestion constituted a grave insult. “We want this over just as much as you do,” the older alpha had snarled, but Shingto growled back, “This won't be over until he has shed every drop of blood in his body.” Lexa had let them hiss and spit at each other for a while, to get it out of their systems, and then had pronounced her compromise: the most trusted warriors of _Trikru_ and _Skaikru_ would be given the dubious honor of comprising Pike's last guard.

A hush settled over the crowd as the gates of the stockade creaked open for the final time, and the honor guard, headed by Kane, closed ranks around their prisoner as he made his way to meet his fate. Lexa kept alert, scanning the crowd for weapons or furtive movements, but in truth she was glad of the excuse not to look at Pike just yet. For all that he had done—massacred her people—and all that he had nearly managed to do—kill her, Clarke, their pups, and destabilize their world beyond repair—she wasn’t looking forward to this. 

There were dark mutters in the crowd as Pike passed by, but no one attempted either to free him or to take their solitary vengeance. Pike was escorted to the bottom of the platform without incident, and then Kane and the leader of the  _ Trikru _ cadre each took him by an elbow and marched him up the steps. Lexa didn’t want to meet Pike’s eyes, but she forced herself to do so.  _ We suffer every death as our own, _ Lexa heard Titus saying in her mind, and as it was true of each one of her people Pike had murdered, so it would be with Pike. 

So she met the traitor’s burning gaze as he was brought to stand before her, and she held it as he curled his lip in a silent and furious snarl—defiant to the last. Lexa supposed that ought to make this easier, but she didn’t feel it.

_ “Teik em set raun ona tri,” _ Lexa told Kane and the  _ Trikru _ guard. They secured Pike to the pole that jutted through the center of the platform, and then returned to stand guard at its base. 

Lexa stepped in closer to Pike, ignoring the waves of alpha dominance and fury that flowed from him. They meant nothing now. Her words were for him alone, but she said them loud enough for her people to hear.

“Charles Pike,” she said, “you stand accused of the massacre of three hundred  _ Trikru _ warriors on a peacekeeping mission, and of treason against the Coalition. Do you deny these crimes?” 

“I deny your authority to punish me, and I deny your Coalition,” Pike spat. “I was defending sovereign land—Arkadian land from your invading army. I responded to your act of war with my own.”

“Whether you recognize my authority or my Coalition, its judgement is nevertheless upon you,” Lexa told him, putting steel into her voice. “For your crimes, you are sentenced to death.”

She turned to face her audience. “Days ago, I declared the dawn of a new world, one with a new law: blood must not have blood. But some crimes are so heinous, and the wound they leave so deep, that they belong to the old world, and must be answered by the old law. Therefore, I sentence this traitor to die by the harshest punishment our people set:  _ wamplei kom thauz kodon.” _

Surprise and excitement rippled through the crowd, although  _ Skaikru _ remained stone-faced on the whole. Lexa let the swell of voices die down before continuing, “Pike will suffer the pain of three hundred deaths. Each of my Clans will send a representative to exact vengeance for their people, and then each of you who has some grievance against this man will have a turn with the blade.

“But make no mistake,” Lexa told them, speaking louder to be heard as their voices rose again, “his death will be the last under the old law. This new world will be born in blood and pain, as all things are. But we will chart a new course forward, one in which such crimes as Pike's are unknown. One in which we will turn our minds away from vengeance, and towards healing and rebuilding. With this man's death,  _ jus drein jus daun _ shall be no more.” 

They were silent, watching her, and she had the impression of a hundred breaths being held. She drew in her own, and let it out in a short, sharp huff before continuing. 

“As  _ Heda, _ the first cut will be mine, and the last.  _ Jus drein, jus daun.”  _

Her people murmured the words as she turned to face Pike, not as a war cry but as a funeral knell. She drew her dagger from her belt, and gripped it hard so that her hand would not shake. 

“For the lives you took with this hand,” she told him, before she took his hand. It required a lot more than one cut; the thick bones and sinew of his wrist did not want to give in easily. Pike's screams drowned out the worst of the sounds of butchery, but they made her stomach curdle just as badly. By the time his hand dropped to the wood of the platform with a wet thump, she was sweating and gritting her teeth. When she turned to call forth the representative of  _ Trikru, _ she could not look at Clarke.

She expected to see Shingto ascend the platform, but to her surprise Octavia was the one who made her way forward to take the blade. “I come in place of Indra, my mentor,” Octavia said grimly, and Lexa nodded. It was right that a  _ Seken _ should take vengeance for her  _ Fos. _ Lexa turned away on the pretense of scanning the crowd as Octavia took Pike's other hand. But not looking did not erase the sounds of flesh tearing, and blood spattering the platform, and screaming—high, wordless screams that Lexa knew would ring in her ears for the rest of her life.

When the deed was done, she and Octavia left the platform together. The younger girl looked green, her lips pressed so tightly together that they’d gone white, but her jaw was set and her eyes were hard. Lexa envied her; she would lose no sleep over this. 

Lexa took her place at the bottom of the platform, and handed her knife to the  _ Yujleda _ general who came forward next. Lexa fixed her eyes on a distant tree she could see on the ridgeline above the crowd, and waited as the heavy thump of boots on wood turned into screams once more. 

And so it went. After a while, the screams died away entirely—Pike must have passed out from blood loss, she surmised, or perhaps he was already dead. But her people continued to come forward, inscribing their vengeance on his body. The sun had climbed high in the sky by the time the last of them, the  _ wormana _ from  _ Azgeda, _ climbed down from the platform and handed her the knife.

“The final cut is yours,  _ Heda,” _ he said heavily. She nodded, wiping the blade on her sleeve before sheathing it. 

The sight that greeted her when she reached the top of the platform barely looked like a man. As per their tradition, her people had removed Pike’s hands, eyes, and tongue; the rest of his body bore so many slashes that he looked like he'd been flayed. Her boots squelched in the blood that slicked the platform, so much that it seemed impossible it had only come from one man.  _ He bleeds for your people, _ she told herself.  _ He bleeds for the lives he stole. _ But that didn’t make her feel any less like vomiting or passing out. 

He was clearly dead—no one could have survived such torture—but she drew her sword anyway, angling it to slide neatly through his ribs and into his heart. It was the same stroke that had killed Gustus, she remembered, and his last words to her echoed in her head as she slid her blade home:

_ Ste yuj. _

Then it was over. Lexa took a step away, and turned to face the crowd. She had to swallow hard several times before she could speak, not trusting herself not to stammer or vomit. 

“Blood has had blood,” she told them. “The dead have been avenged, and are at peace. And so are we. I am  _ Heda _ , and this is my decree.”

Lexa sheathed her blade, and joined Clarke once more upon the ground.


	32. Leviticus 26:19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And I will break the pride of your power; and I will make your heaven as iron, and your Earth as brass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost there, kru! Got some fluff in the beginning, but there's a tissue warning at the end. According to my beta reader, it's a three-tissue chapter. As always, let me know what you think in the comments and on tumblr @n1ghtwr1ter.

**** It had been several weeks since Lexa had sent her armies home to their Clans, to their cities and villages and farmsteads, to tell the story of  _ Skaikru’s  _ revolt and the death of the traitor Pike, when Abby finally pronounced her well enough to return to Polis. That was far too long for Lexa, Clarke knew; from the moment she could spend a full day upright without getting dizzy, she was chafing at the bit, and Clarke had a hell of a time convincing her to stay in bed and rest. The only thing that helped was a combination of stern words about how her restlessness was only delaying her recovery, and whispered promises of sexual favors that, to both of their frustration, could not be delivered upon until they returned to Polis, due to the medbay being packed to capacity.

To her surprise, Clarke found that she was missing Polis. The dark halls of the Ark, the clank of boots on metal, the hum of voices from the cafeteria and common areas were familiar, but as much as they felt like home to her they also felt increasingly claustrophobic. She found herself yearning for the wide, airy halls of Polis tower, the bustle of its broad streets and the buzz of its open markets. There, she might be able to escape the way her people looked at her: like she was some kind of monster, or some kind of god, or maybe both. There, she might have a moment to herself without her mother or her mate hovering over her nervously, asking if she felt all right or what she was thinking about. There, she might be able to figure out how she felt about everything that had happened over the last several weeks.

Clarke knew that Lexa hadn't wanted to do it—hadn’t wanted to kill Pike in that terrible way. She knew her mate, and she knew she wasn’t a killer at heart—a peacemaker, yes, who would kill to prevent more killing, but she took no pleasure in it. And even if she hadn't known that about Lexa, she was present for every time her mate began convulsing in her sleep, thrashing and whimpering before she finally jerked awake, screaming silently into the darkened room. She would soothe Lexa as best she could, pushing her hair back from her sweat-soaked forehead and murmuring calming nonsense, and eventually the alpha's eyes would lose their wildness and her muscles would lose their fight-or-flight tension and she would fall back asleep. But Clarke would often remain awake for some time yet, staring into the darkness and wondering whether Lexa heard the same screams as she did, saw the same blood and death behind her closed eyelids.

The Commander might not have wanted to do it, but she had done it anyway. Clarke was aware of the myriad reasons why it had to happen this way—because Pike had taken three hundred lives and those deaths needed to be answered; because the Grounders would have revolted against Lexa's rule if she had refused, thus sparking the greater rebellion that she had been trying to prevent from the outset—but that didn’t change the fact that Clarke had watched as her mate sawed through Pike's wrist with her dagger and then handed her blade to the next one, and the next.

Lexa hadn’t attempted to talk to her about it, rightfully sensing that Clarke wasn’t ready, wasn’t sure she'd ever be ready. And yet the circumstances of Pike's death still hung between them in the many instances where Clarke caught Lexa glancing at her nervously, and then glanced away the moment their eyes met; and in the scent of trepidation that hung around her mate like a cloud. Finally, she could stand it no longer. “What is it?” she'd asked Lexa matter-of-factly, dropping the bandages she'd been pretending to sort. “You're acting like a kicked puppy around me, Lexa, and that's not like you. So let's talk.”

Lexa looked spooked, but to her credit she didn’t attempt to deny it. Swallowing hard, she said, “I know you don’t agree with the sentences for Pike and…and Bellamy,” she said, and now it was Clarke's turn to swallow hard. Bellamy had left a couple days ago, the brand on his forehead still red and shiny but no longer at risk of infection, on his way to the closest Grounder village, where he would begin to make his amends to the families of the slain. It had been hard, but she had made herself get up at dawn to be there with Octavia to see him off. They had both hugged him goodbye, murmuring “May we meet again,” and then watched him trudge off towards the forest with nothing but the pack on his back.

Clarke jerked herself out of the memory when the scent of Lexa's worry sharpened in her nose. “It's not that I don’t agree with your judgements,” she told Lexa. “I think they were hard, but…but fair. Bellamy will get a chance to try to repay his debts, and Pike deserved death. It's just…”

“They were fair, but hard,” Lexa said, and Clarke nodded.

Yet the Commander did not appear much mollified by her agreement, leading Clarke to ask, “What else?” Lexa wouldn’t look at her for a long moment, long enough for Clarke to begin getting concerned as well. She reached out and touched the alpha's hand, knowing she was taking a risk with her question, but needing to ask anyway. “Lexa…what are you afraid of?”

Lexa went very still, and for a moment Clarke feared that she was going to draw herself up and declare that  _ Heda  _ wasn’t afraid of anything. But when Lexa looked at her again, it wasn't with defiance, but an aching vulnerability that melted Clarke's heart.

“I’m afraid you'll leave again.”

Clarke pressed her hand to Lexa's cheek, but the alpha leaned into it for only the barest moment of comfort before taking it gently but firmly and holding it in her lap. “I'm afraid to fall asleep some nights because I worry that you'll be gone when I open my eyes. That you'll decide you can’t live with someone like me, raise pups with someone who's done the things I’ve done. And I wouldn’t blame you.” She gave Clarke a watery smile, one that held more pain than anything. “There will still be danger ahead, Clarke. We can't keep them a secret from my people for much longer, and that means…” She let out a short, sharp breath.

“Once we are back in Polis, I mean to claim you publicly as my mate, and your pups as ours.”

Clarke felt herself go cold and then hot. It was both everything she'd hoped for and everything she feared, all at once.

“What…what does that mean?”

“Well,” Lexa said, sucking in a breath to fortify herself, “it would mean a public ceremony of commitment to one another, before witnesses of our people. We call it  _ teinaste,  _ or…”

“Marriage,” Clarke whispered. Her hand squeezed Lexa's tightly.  _ Oh my god… _

“Yes,” Lexa said, darting her a quick, hopeful smile. “I assume your people have a similar practice?”

Clarke could only nod silently.

“Few  _ Hedas  _ have publicly taken mates, but enough that there is an established protocol. Because it would present a conflict of interest for me, you could no longer represent your people as Ambassador, but you would become my consort and rule by my side. Your authority would not be as complete as mine, but you could rule Polis in my absence, and in the event of my death you would serve as regent for as long as it took to convene the Conclave and choose a new Commander.”

Clarke's head whirled with all of the information, struggling to take it in. She seemed to have gotten stuck somewhere around  _ marriage. _

Mistaking her silence for upset, Lexa rushed out, “I know it's sudden, and I didn’t want to pressure you, especially with all that's happened, and if you need more time I’ll try to delay it as long as I can, but—”

Her mate's words had begun tumbling over each other, almost to the point of incoherence, but for Clarke it seemed that everything had suddenly snapped into place. “Lexa,” she said, taking both of her mate's hands, “of course I’ll marry you.”

Lexa's jaw hung open for so long that Clarke had to laugh. She almost didn’t recognize the bright, heady sound bubbling out of her, but when she did she enjoyed the way it echoed around the room. “You…you will?” the alpha said, once she’d recovered the power of speech. “But…you said you needed more time.”

Clarke sighed. “I do, to get over Pike and Bellamy. I know you were doing what you had to do, to end the war and keep us safe. I don’t like it, but given time I can come to accept it. This, though…” She gestured with their linked hands, giving Lexa a wry smile. “This was kind of inevitable.”

As soon as she said it, she realized just how true it was. Something about it felt like the inevitable conclusion of everything that had happened since Clarke had first begun dreaming of the ground: their meeting, their initial clashes, the way they’d come together to make love as though they were making war; and the way they had so swiftly come to mean so much to each other. As broken and damaged as they both were, something about being with Lexa—even if it was just at her side, in her presence—made her feel like she was whole.

After another long pause, a grin slowly began to stretch across Lexa’s face, like the sun rising over the meadow and setting the dew alight. Then she drew Clarke close and kissed her, laughter and tears spilling from their lips and eyes until neither of them could tell where one began and the other ended. And it didn’t really seem to matter, anyway.

***

A couple days later, Clarke’s mother pronounced her mate well enough to travel back to the capitol. She was still under heavy restrictions on all activities, to be enforced by Clarke—no running, no fighting, no training, no sitting in council sessions for longer than three hours—but she was cleared to return to her people, and that was enough to put a wide grin on Lexa's face. And, to the shock of everyone in the room—including, Clarke thought, Lexa herself—she had lurched forward and drawn Abby into a bear hug. She'd broken it off moments later, blushing furiously, but after a moment of surprised silence Abby had given her a big smile.

_ “Disha laik skrish,”  _ Clarke heard Lexa mutter under her breath. The words were barely audible over the creaking of the wagon on which they sat, but they made Clarke roll her eyes anyway.

“It’s for your own good,” she told her mate, who only huffed and slumped a little deeper into the pile of pillows in the wagonbed. When Abby had informed her that she was not going to be allowed to ride to Polis on horseback, Lexa's joy had turned to outrage. But Clarke’s mother was not swayed by any amount of ranting that the people of Polis must not see their  _ Heda  _ returning to them on a  _ wagon,  _ like some  _ invalid. _ The amount of strain that a ride like that would place on the still-healing muscles of her core was not acceptable at this juncture, and if Lexa didn’t like it then she was welcome to stay in Arkadia for a few more weeks.

All three of them had blanched at that. As much as their relationship had improved, having two alphas as dominant as Abby and Lexa in the same relatively tight space had been wearing on everyone, especially Clarke. Eventually, through a combination of persuasion and shouting, she had managed to broker a compromise: Lexa would ride in the wagon until they got to the edge of the forest that ringed the city, and then she would ride into Polis on her tall white stallion, healthy and whole for all of her citizens to see. Neither of them liked it much, but both had accepted it, and Clarke counted that a win.

“It won’t be long before we’re close enough for you to ride,” Clarke said, but her conciliatory words were only met with a grumpy rumble as Lexa shut her eyes and pretended to go to sleep. Despite her mate’s ridiculous pouting, Clarke couldn’t keep a soft smile from creeping over her face as she smoothed out a line from the alpha’s brow. She was remembering the other important conversation they’d had with her mother, which they’d both reluctantly agreed needed to happen before they left Arkadia.

They'd both gone into it wary and ready for a fight, but to their surprise it had gone better than either of them could have expected. Clarke had watched Abby’s eyebrows climb higher and higher as Lexa stammered on, trying to couch it in terms of political usefulness and ways it would help protect Clarke and their children, without actually explaining what she was talking about. Eventually Clarke just seized Lexa's hand and blurted out, “We’re getting married, Mom!”

Instead of sputtering or shouting or anything of that sort, Abby had simply nodded. “I figured that might be what was happening, if that one—” she nodded at Lexa, “—could ever spit it out.”

Lexa's jaw worked, but she was smart enough not to say anything—or too terrified, Clarke thought, darting a glance at her mate.

Abby had turned the full force of her most pointed look on Lexa, and Clarke had the hysterical urge to giggle as Lexa visibly drew herself up, like a soldier under her superior’s inspection. But Abby's only question was, “Do you promise that you will love and respect and honor my daughter for the rest of your natural lives, and love and protect and cherish your pups?”

Without a shred of hesitation, Lexa had replied, “For as long as I live, and after.”

Abby snorted. “Well, let's not go overboard.” But her façade of calm had dissolved a moment later, when she pulled both of them into a tight hug and whispered into Clarke's hair, “I love you so much, and you’d better invite me to the wedding.”

The crack in her voice had inspired a similar one in Clarke's as she said, “We will, Mom.”

That was not to be for several weeks at least, but Clarke still smiled as she thought of it. There would inevitably be chaos to sort out when they got back, meeting with the Ambassadors of all Thirteen Clans and making sure they got the official narrative straight before they sent them back to their respective leaders. But compared to what they'd been through to get to this point, riding in the back of a creaking wagon on its way to Polis, it seemed to Clarke like nothing they couldn’t handle. Whatever awaited them, they would be together.

Kane drew his horse alongside the wagon, and met Clarke’s smile with his own. There was a bright, almost boyish twinkle in his eye that made Clarke ask, “Excited to be going back to Polis?”

He laughed. “I was about to ask you the same thing, actually, but yes. I didn’t get as much of a chance to explore the city as I wanted last time. I thought it might be good to get a measure of it, as Ambassador.”

“You will also have to decide where you want to set up  _ Skaikru's  _ embassy,” Lexa pointed out. After some consideration, meeting with both Kane and Abby and discussing it with Clarke, she had chosen Kane as Ambassador for  _ Skaikru  _ and Abby to lead Arkadia. His temperament seemed more suited to diplomacy, and his interest in learning about Grounder culture would serve him well in showing the other Clans that the Sky People were not all savage heathens. Abby had proven herself tough but flexible in negotiations with Lexa, not afraid to stand up for what her people needed but willing to make compromises when necessary. She would be able to keep them in line as they began the long, slow process of healing and rebuilding their place within the Coalition.

Abby would come to Polis next to be acknowledged as Clan leader, to take the brand of  _ Heda  _ and to swear fealty on behalf of her people—but also to watch her daughter get married. Clarke couldn’t help feeling a bit exhausted when she thought of all the preparation that would have to go into getting both of those ceremonies sorted out, but it made sense to hold both at once. It wasn't a small thing to ask the Clan leaders to come all the way to Polis from their various capitals, and asking them to do it twice in one season would likely provoke a rebellion, Lexa had told her. There was a bit of a glint in her eye that suggested she was joking, but Clarke didn’t find the prospect particularly funny.

“I would be happy to have someone show you around,” Lexa was saying now, offering Kane the first smile Clarke had seen from her all day—not that Clarke was complaining much about the adorable pout her mate had been sporting instead. “If Indra is recovered enough, I think she would be glad to do the honors.”

Kane brightened at the mention of his friend. “The honor would be mine. Thank you, Commander.”

He rode on soon afterwards, leaving Clarke and Lexa once again to the relative privacy of the wagonbed. Upon hearing her mate let out a grumpy sigh, Clarke moved to the same side of the wagon as Lexa and took her hand. “It’ll be all right,” she said earnestly, pumping out calming pheromones. “We’ll be back in Polis before you know it, and no one is going to think less of you. They’re just going to be happy you’re alive.”

Lexa sighed again, but the grouchy pheromones coloring her scent receded somewhat, leaving anxiety and exhaustion in their wake. “You should sleep,” Clarke told her. “You’re still recovering and you need your rest.”

“I have been sleeping for the last three weeks,” Lexa grumbled, but her words held no sting. She shifted lower amongst the pillows until she was resting her head against Clarke’s shoulder, and Clarke was granted the privilege of listening to her mate’s breathing grow slower and gentler as she drifted off to sleep.

***

They arrived at the edge of the forest surrounding Polis the following morning, just as the horn winded to herald the opening of the markets and of the city’s gates. Lexa was up well before Clarke, striding around and ordering the company for the approach, with a brightness in her voice and eyes that Clarke hadn’t seen in a long time. She allowed herself a moment to just bask in the effervescent quality of the alpha’s excitement, barely contained beneath a thin veneer of Commanderly decorum, before heaving herself up and out of the wagonbed and heading in search of a stream. She was going to fall asleep again if she didn’t get the chance to splash some water on her face.

Upon returning from the spring, skin tingling with the water's iciness, Clarke noticed a commotion taking place in the front of their small caravan. A few swift strides brought her close enough to see a cart with a pair of horses tied to the back, already saddled. A Polis guard, presumably the driver, was helping someone down from the seat of the cart, a small older beta who moved stiffly.

“Indra!” Kane called, his voice full of joy as he came sprinting up from the rear of the caravan. The warrior cracked a rare smile as she offered him her arm, and he clasped it firmly.

Clarke felt an echoing smile stretch her lips as she walked past the friends' reunion, over to where Lexa was getting reacquainted with her steed, petting and cooing to the stallion as though he was a kitten and not a warhorse. When she heard Clarke approach, she jumped a little bit, blushing, but she kept on running her hands over the horse's muzzle and scratching at a favorite spot along his neck.

“Are you ready, Clarke?” Lexa said. “There is another horse for you. I was hoping you would ride into the city at my side.”

Clarke's throat tightened at the shyly hopeful expression on Lexa's face, and all she could do was nod. Seeing Lexa this way—happy, hopeful, on the mend—was at once all she ever wanted and more than she could have dreamed of three weeks ago, when she had walked into Arkadia carrying her dying mate. She was grateful for the chance to hide the brimming in her eyes under the guise of untying her horse's reins from the back of the cart. She couldn’t help noticing that the animal was jet-black, and wondered if she should be offended at the symbolism of the Commander of Death riding into Polis on such a steed, but she decided to ignore it. She was too happy.

“Now remember, take it easy,” Clarke said as Lexa swung herself into the saddle. She thought she saw a grimace flicker across the alpha's face as the movement put strain on her still-healing muscles, but it was gone before she could ask Lexa about it.

“Don’t worry,” Lexa replied as Clarke began the far less graceful process of clambering onto her own horse. “Neither of us wants to have to explain to your mother why my wound has worsened.”

Clarke snorted in amused agreement as they spurred their horses to the head of the caravan.

Their entry into the city began in an orderly fashion, the citizens that they passed on the main thoroughfare looking up in surprise at the call from the guards to make way. But word of their arrival must have spread through Polis like wildfire, because they met with greater fanfare the further into the city they got. Shopkeepers and craftsmen stood in the doors of their stores and workshops, calling out to their  _ Heda,  _ and flocks of children ran alongside their horses, laughing as they darted up to touch Lexa's boot or her stallion's mane. By the time they reached the central marketplace, a jubilant crowd had gathered, shouting Lexa's name and waving flags and banners on which her symbol flew.

Clarke kept her eyes straight ahead for the most part, not wanting to accidentally run over anybody and cause a scandal just when she needed their approval most, but she couldn’t resist darting a few glances at Lexa. The Commander was doing admirably at keeping her composure, but even she was not immune to the outpouring of love from her people. Each time Clarke looked, the small grin tugging at Lexa's lips had grown just a little wider.

As they reached the base of Polis tower, the cheers of the crowd had resolved into a rhythmic chant of  _ “Heda! Heda! Heda!”  _ Lexa sat tall and proud on her white horse, looking every inch the victorious Commander as she raised her hand to acknowledge her people. Clarke supposed as she slipped off her own horse that the image was accurate. Lexa  _ had  _ returned from a battle, with the deadliest foe of all: death.

The mood was jubilant in the warm, brightly-lit stable as they led their horses in. The grooms lined the walls, making short bows and knuckling their foreheads and murmuring  _ “Heda”  _ as Lexa passed by. Clarke couldn’t help noticing a surprising number of smiles for her as well, and wondered whether Polis's citizens had learned of her part in Lexa's recovery, or if they had just grown used to her, or maybe even fond. She found that she much preferred the latter explanation.

Clarke waited as Lexa settled her horse in his stall, then they rode the elevator up through the tower together. To Clarke's surprise and quiet delight, her mate seized hold of her hand as the rickety vehicle creaked upwards, much as she had the last time they’d taken this ride together. But as the doors groaned open to reveal a hallway near the throne room, Lexa did not let go of Clarke's hand, only gripped a little more tightly.

“I want to check on the  _ Natblida,”  _ Lexa said as they left the elevator. When Clarke did not respond, the alpha darted an apologetic glance in her direction. But Clarke's silence was due not to any disapproval, but to trying to get used to the sensation of walking through the halls hand in hand with her mate, openly wearing her mark and with their pups pressing gently against her waistband.

“That’s fine,” she said to Lexa, offering a smile. “I figured you’d want to reassure them that their  _ Heda  _ was all right.”

Lexa nodded, relief plain in her scent as they turned the corner, entering the corridor that held the entrance to the throne room. Their eyes met, and Clarke’s breath caught in her chest with an emotion too huge for her to parse straight away. It took her a moment of staring at her mate's soft smile to realize what it was: pure, unadulterated happiness.

Her next step squished in liquid of some kind. Clarke looked down, frowning, preparing to tease Lexa that her cleaning staff must have gotten sloppy while she was away, but the words died in her throat when she realized it was blood.

She followed the trail of shining red fluid to its source, seeping out from the slashed throats of two guards. “Oh god,” she muttered, hurrying forward, Lexa on her heels. Before she even got close she could tell there was nothing she could do for them—their staring eyes and severed arteries attested to that—but she had to check. She had to know that what she was seeing was real, because it didn’t quite feel that way. It would mean that blood and death and war had seeped into the very heart of Lexa’s world, at the moment when they were supposed to have exorcised it forever.

Clarke knelt to examine the slashes across the guards' necks and to close their eyes, and noted, with the sense of dispassion that she had learned for treating patients, that their bodies were still warm. The attack had to have happened recently, she realized, meaning the killer might still be at large.

At first Lexa followed suit. But a moment later, she lurched back to her feet with a gasp of  _ “Ticha!”  _ Clarke looked up to see her mate dropping to her knees before someone who was braced against the closed door of the throne room. Even though she couldn’t see his face, only the dark robes stained even darker with the blood pouring down his front, she knew who it was: Titus.

Foreboding was settling over Clarke, a leaden feeling that made her steps drag just a little, even though she knew she needed to move fast. Who could have done this? Who could have attacked the  _ Fleimkepa  _ in the middle of Polis's inner sanctum? Who would have the ability—or the motive, or the will? The slashes on the guards’ throats were clean, precise. Whoever had killed them was highly trained and skilled. Clarke felt the weight of the gun on her hip as she made her way to Titus, and for the first time since his bullets rang out in the tower three weeks ago, she was grateful for it.

To her astonishment, Titus was still alive. The hand Lexa clasped was shaking badly, and the other was pressed to his throat, which was slashed like the others. But the blade must have missed the artery, or only nicked it, because there wasn’t nearly as much blood pouring from it as there had been from the guards. Still, Clarke could tell from the pallor of Titus's skin, and the amount of blood staining his robes, that he didn’t have long without medical attention.

_ No way,  _ she thought, pulling the blue sash off her shoulder and balling it up.  _ You don’t get to die before you face punishment for what you did. What you  _ almost  _ did,  _ she amended hastily, because despite his best efforts Titus hadn’t managed to kill Lexa, hadn’t managed to destabilize the Coalition and throw the world into chaos. And yet, with two guards dead and Lexa’s advisor bleeding out on the floor, she couldn’t help feeling like maybe he’d succeeded after all.

As Clarke moved to press the wad of cloth into his wound, an agonized croak came from Titus, accompanied by a bubbling-up of blood.

“Don’t try to talk,” Lexa told him, caught between urgency and soothing. But Titus ignored her, releasing her hand to grip her arm so hard his knuckles turned pale.

His mouth moved slowly and painfully, each word dragging itself from him with a shudder and more blood seeping down his neck. There weren’t many, but there were enough. “She,” Titus gasped, chest heaving with the effort of drawing breath and forcing it out through a broken passageway. “Came…killed...” He gestured to his throat, and then, with what seemed a last effort, “ _ Natblida _ …there!” He flung his hand at the door to the throne room, and Clarke seized the opportunity to force the sash against his neck.

“Hold this here,” she told him roughly, as Lexa launched herself to her feet, drawing her sword. Clarke was up a moment later, pulling her gun from its holster, and she joined Lexa in the effort of heaving open the heavy doors to the throne room.

Ontari stood just below the plinth that held the twisted wooden throne. A naked blade was in her hand, coated heavily with blood. At their entrance, she whirled, black eyes snapping with an insane and furious light. “You,” she snarled. But Lexa's attention was not on her.

_ “No!”  _

Lexa’s cry was not one of defiance, but agony—a miserable sound dragged up from the depths of her soul. Clarke's heart seized in sympathy even before she followed Lexa's gaze to the steps of the plinth, where Aden lay in a steadily growing pool of ink-dark blood. His own blade was drawn, still clenched tightly in his hand, and Clarke could see traces of night-colored fluid scrawled across its surface.

A low whimper sounded from the corner of the room behind the throne. Straining to see into the shadows, Clarke realized that the rest of the  _ Natblida  _ were huddled there. Two of the oldest stood before them, their own blades drawn, looking terrified but determined. Aden must have fallen defending his fellow novitiates from Ontari.

“You have betrayed the position of  _ Heda,  _ and you have betrayed your people,” Ontari seethed, bringing her blade into guard. “You are no longer worthy of the Flame. Surrender it to me, and I will give you the mercy of a swift death.”

But Lexa didn’t answer. When Clarke turned to look, alarm rising in her throat, she saw her mate slump to her knees. There was an expression on the alpha's face that Clarke had never before witnessed: utter despair. Even in their darkest hours together, Lexa’s spirit had shone bright, lighting their passage through uncharted territory. But for the first time since Clarke had known her, that indomitable flame had flickered and gone out.

“Get up!” Ontari howled, teeth bared and spit flying from her lips in a rabid froth. “Face me like a _gona!”_ At that moment, Clarke made a decision.

“No,” she said harshly, raising her gun. “I’m ending this now.” And then she fired. Her shot hit Ontari directly in the head. The rogue Nightblood toppled over, dead before she hit the ground.

Lexa was running before she even made it fully upright, half-crouched as she scuttled across the floor of the throne room. And then she was on her knees before Aden, pulling him into her arms, utterly disregarding the blood soaking into her clothes. Clarke followed at speed, trepidation trembling in her stomach. She would make every effort to save him, but she could tell from the amount of dark blood spilled across the floor that there would not be much she could do.

Her heart sank as she knelt before the Commander and her fallen  _ Natblida.  _ His throat was not slashed like the others, but blood poured from many wounds. He must have fought ferociously to keep Ontari away from his fellow novitiates even though he must have known that their situation was desperate, with their guards slain and their  _ Ticha _ mortally wounded. But he had refused to give up, refused to let Ontari slaughter them, had fought her to the last. The worst of his injuries was a slash across the midsection, where his arm was pressed, and Clarke could tell instantly that it had been too long; he had lost too much blood. Still, she helped Lexa press her red sash of office into the wound, watching it quickly soak through with darkness.

The boy looked pale and small in Lexa's arms, shivering with blood loss, but even now he fought to keep his eyes open so he could acknowledge his Commander.

_ “Heda…” _

_ “Nou mou, Aden,”  _ Lexa told him, her voice shaking. “Don’t try to speak. Clarke is going to fix you.” She turned a desperate gaze on Clarke, but the omega didn’t even time have to shake her head before understanding filled Lexa's eyes. A silent sob racked her frame, but she controlled it, attempting to smile through the tears streaming down her face as she looked back down at Aden.

“Did…is she…the others…?” Aden rasped, his breath coming in harsh, labored shudders.

“They're safe,” Lexa told him, voice cracking, darting a glance at the _Natblida_ still huddled in the corner, their eyes wide and staring. “Ontari is dead. You did it, _ai_ _Natblida._ You protected your brothers and sisters.”

The tension began melting out of Aden's body then, and although he didn’t match Lexa's smile, a look of peace came over his pale features. “Good,” he sighed, and then,  _ “ai biyo moba…ba…ai ste ridon…” _

“Sleep then,  _ ai gona _ ,” Lexa told him, with a tenderness that tore at Clarke's heart.  _ “Rid yu op en chilnes, en stomba raun en hodnes.” _

A faint smile crept over Aden's lips then, even as his eyes slid shut. He slowly relaxed into her arms, the tension fading from his face and body, and if not for the black blood staining the floor around him he could have simply been resting, safe and content, in his  _ Heda's  _ arms. But when his labored chest at last fell still, the illusion was shattered by a howl of pure grief and agony that tore itself from Lexa's throat. It held all of the pain and bitterness and sorrow of the past three weeks, and more besides—because for all that Lexa insisted no one could know who the Flame would choose as its bearer, Clarke knew that Aden was supposed to go on after her, to become Commander after her, to lead their people into the new world that Lexa had built for them. Aden was meant to be the future, and Lexa grieved for that future even as she grieved for the boy she had raised and trained and nurtured to be the bright, brave young man he was.

Words rose unbidden to Clarke's lips, and at first she held them in, not knowing if it was her place to say them. She put her arms around Lexa’s shoulders, silently hoping to relieve even a little of the burden of anguish her mate carried. But the words gathered on her tongue, wanting to press themselves out, even as the  _ Natblida  _ joined Lexa's sorrowful cry with their own keening voices.

“In peace may you leave this shore,” Clarke murmured, staring at the body of the boy in Lexa's arms, the final casualty of a brutal, bitter war. “In love may you find the next. Safe passage on your travels until our final journey on the ground.

“May we meet again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigedasleng
> 
> *means I made this up
> 
> *teinaste: marriage
> 
> Disha laik skrish: this is shit
> 
> Ticha: teacher
> 
> Gona: warrior
> 
> Nou mou: enough
> 
> Ai biyo moba, ba ai ste *ridon: I am sorry, but I'm tired
> 
> Rid yu op en chilnes, en stomba raun en hodnes: Sleep in peace, and wake in love


	33. Micah 4:3-4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They will beat their swords into plowshares  
> And their spears into pruning hooks;  
> Nation will not lift up sword against nation,  
> And never again will they train for war.  
> Each of them will sit under his own vine  
> And under his fig tree,  
> And no one shall make them afraid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. So...this is it. The end of Young Gods. It's been a wild ride. And it all started with Strange Love, which was supposed to be a plotless oneshot. But then 307 happened, and it turned into a crusade to write the wrongs (yes, that was on purpose) that ripped a hole in all of us. I've had this ending in mind since almost the very beginning, and it means a lot to me. I hope it helps you as much as it did me.

_"Heda?”_

The voice was quiet, respectful, even a little timid. Lexa wished very much that she could pretend she hadn’t heard it, but she wasn’t a pup. Still, she couldn’t help curling just a little bit tighter around her mate's slumbering form, enjoying Clarke's deep, easy breathing and her warm, rich scent that hinted of things to come very soon – any day now, by Clarke's estimate.

_“Heda?_ Your guests have arrived… The Chancellor of _Skaikru_ and her delegation. They have some _tek_ they say they need to set up in your chamber…”

An ill-tempered growl escaped from Lexa's lips before she could stop herself. Yes, she was _Heda,_ and she knew she needed to get up and greet her guests, but her omega, her _Klark,_ was here, and so were their pups, almost ready to be born. As their alpha, their sire, she should be at their side, making sure that they were warm and comfortable and protected and did not suffer from anything like a deficiency of food or water or chocolate or foot rubs…

“Lexa,” Clarke groaned, “what’s going on? Why are they bothering us so early?”

“It is not early,” said a new voice, one that was far firmer than the first. Lexa let out a snarl as Brenna barged into the room and made her way briskly over to the curtains. She flung them open with a crisp snap, bathing the room in searing light. Clarke swore and Lexa snarled again, hiding her watering eyes in her mate's shoulder.

“It is past noon,” Brenna said, coming to a stop only once she had opened all the curtains in the chamber, letting in far too much of the autumn light. “I have had to reschedule three of your appointments because you were too busy brooding over your mate, but _Wanheda's_ mother will not be put off. You both need to rise. The pups will not come within the time it takes to dress and receive the Chancellor.”

“I wish they would,” Clarke grumbled, pressing a hand to her swollen belly. “Then maybe I could stop feeling like a whale. Or having to pee every fifteen seconds. Or waking up in the middle of the night craving—” she turned to Lexa. “What was it last time?”

Lexa smirked. “A sandwich made with peanut butter and something you referred to as ‘fluff.’ You told me it tasted horrible, but you ate it all anyway.” She neglected to mention the three hours she had spent that night in the library, paging through old herbalism tomes and bestiaries and cookbooks in search of even a reference to this ‘fluff.’ Clarke was under enough strain as it was; she didn’t need a guilty conscience to go with it.

She couldn’t hold back a protesting whimper as Clarke heaved herself out of bed. “If I have to get up, you do too,” Clarke groaned without looking at her. The omega was bent backwards as far as her stomach would allow, hands pressed to her back in the vain hope of easing some of the knots that Lexa had spent an hour trying to knead out of her muscles the night before. With a frustrated growl, she soon abandoned the effort and slid her arms into the dressing gown that Brenna held up for her. “Let's go,” she said, giving Lexa a sharp look. “I am not facing my mother alone.”

Sighing, Lexa rose and made her way to the closet, where her own dressing gown (which Brenna had not bothered to fetch) hung. Five months ago, perhaps, Lexa would have rumbled at Clarke for bossing her around this way in front of Brenna, but not now. While the changes their pups had brought were most clearly evident in Clarke's body, Lexa had, to her surprise, been undergoing changes of her own.

For one thing, the balance she had worked so hard to hone between her alpha instincts for dominance and her heart’s longing for Clarke had been thrown entirely to the winds. In the past few months, her inner alpha had become much more difficult to restrain than usual, making her frequently argumentative and snappish, prone to displays of dominance. Clarke had apparently appreciated that last, Lexa thought, rummaging through the closet in order to hide a blush, if the fact that she often dragged Lexa back to their chambers after she snarled at yet another subordinate was any indication.

And yet, despite the rise in her aggressive behavior towards all others, she had gone the exact opposite direction when it came to Clarke. It had long been difficult for Lexa to refuse Clarke anything, but now it was well-nigh impossible. All her mate had to do was sigh or groan a little and Lexa would be at her side, anxiously asking what was bothering her, offering her a foot rub or a back rub or to send to the kitchens for whatever food she might desire. Nothing was too much for the mother of her pups. Lexa supposed she ought to be concerned about being politically compromised in her mate’s favor, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care; she was too happy.

The only thing that caused her much anxiety these days was being parted from Clarke for any prolonged period. She had never been one for physical affection, as _Natblida_ were trained from an early age not to expect or need it. For the majority of her life, her only physical contact had been in training, grappling or roughhousing with her fellow Nightbloods. The gentle touch of Costia, her first lover, had been a revelation, one that was at once miraculous and yet difficult to get used to. They had been parted before Lexa had truly grown accustomed to it, and afterwards she had not sought out another’s touch in that way, afraid that the still-healing scars on her soul would somehow bleed through to her body. Clarke had gone a long way towards healing those wounds, with her confident, tender, sometimes sneaky hands, but overall, she was _Heda;_ and _Heda_ neither sought touch, nor needed it.

That precept had gone entirely out the window within the last couple of months. Lexa not only needed Clarke's touch, but had developed something of an addiction to it. Whenever she wasn’t wrapped around Clarke in their bed, or sitting closely side by side, or touching in some way, she felt a physical ache beneath her breastbone, a longing to feel her mate’s warmth, to breathe in her scent, to run her hands over Clarke’s steadily growing belly in anticipation of the lives within. Even when they held council together on their twin thrones, it was not enough: she had been late to plenty of meetings and council sessions, and cut plenty of others short, in order to steal just a few more perfect minutes entwined with her mate. 

With another sigh, Lexa eschewed her dressing gown in favor of a loose shirt and trousers. Turning back around in time to catch Clarke's quizzical look, Lexa told her, “I will go and receive them, so you have a little more time to yourself.”

“Thank you,” Clarke murmured, giving her a relieved smile. Lexa bent to take her lips in a brief kiss before steeling herself for the painful tug that she knew being parted from her mate would engender.

Abby had been shown into the throne room, but she wasn’t alone. She was surrounded by numerous bags and oddly-shaped boxes, and Lexa had to swerve out of the way of a pair of guards lugging a rickety wooden crate that was nearly as tall as her. “Chancellor,” she said from over the crate, once the warriors had set it down. She waved at Abby with an apologetic grin. “I hope your journey wasn’t too strenuous.”

Before Clarke's mother could reply, however, Raven bustled into the room, carrying a large metal device. “Hey Abby, where do you want the generator set up – oh.” Lexa nodded at her when their eyes met.

“Raven.”

“Commander.”

Clearly aware of the sudden chill in the room, Abby hastened to say, “We’ll want that in the room where Clarke's planning to give birth.”

“That would be our room,” Lexa told her, grateful for the older alpha's intervention. “If you tell my guards which items you'll want there, our staff will make sure they all wind up in the right places. Have you been shown your own chambers yet?”

Ryko, her seneschal, had been shoved into the corner somewhat by the influx of baggage, but he piped up to say, “I offered, Commander, but the Chancellor was insistent…”

“I would like to see my daughter,” Abby said, calmly but firmly. “With the birth so close, we need to make certain everything is proceeding normally.”

“Plus we really only have one shot with the generator,” Raven said. At Lexa's blank look, she explained, “To power the machines. If something goes wrong, they could save her life.”

Lexa nodded. “Clarke is still getting ready, but I'm sure she'll be glad to see you all.”

Raven snorted. “Figures. Griffin never was a morning person.”

Lexa couldn't help smirking a bit. “It has been something of a challenge to convince Clarke to rise lately.”

Raven chuckled, and then abruptly seemed to realize who she'd been laughing with and turned away, rummaging among the bags.

“So, I guess we want our stuff to one side, mommy gear to the other? Which side's closer to our rooms?”

“It's this way,” Ryko said, trying to forge his way through the maze of crates and satchels, but before he'd gotten very far the side door to the chamber burst open.

“Guess who I found!” Octavia entered with Clarke, who wore an expression of mingled happiness and exasperation. When she caught sight of the wreckage in the room, her eyes widened.

“Jesus Christ, Mom, did you dismantle the whole medbay and bring it with you?”

“Just about,” Raven said, picking her way around the crates to offer Clarke a hug. “Damn, you’re huge.”

“Fuck off, Raven,” Clarke said when they separated, but she was grinning and her words had no bite.

Lexa was glad her mate's reunion with her friends seemed to be going well, but she was already trembling with the urge to be close to Clarke, to feel her warmth and smell her scent. Luckily, Clarke seemed to understand, because she beckoned Lexa over. With a sigh, the alpha slipped her arms around Clarke's waist, rubbing her thumbs over the taut expanse of Clarke's belly. She felt her mate relax into her just a bit, and suddenly it was a struggle to keep from closing her eyes and purring.

“Well, you guys certainly managed to make a mess of this place,” Clarke said lightly. “It’s been, what, two minutes since you got here?”

“More like five,” Raven said, smirking. Clarke rolled her eyes.

“Well, in any case, why don’t we give the footmen a chance to clear everything out? I asked Brenna to set up some refreshments for us in the garden.”

“Ooh, re _fresh_ ments in the _garden!”_ Octavia said in a strange, sing-songy voice.

Clarke dug an elbow into the other omega's side. “You want lemonade or not, Blake?”

***

If someone had told Clarke five months ago that she would be here now, on a late summer afternoon, sipping icy lemonade and eating cake with her mother, her mate, and her two best friends, in the beautiful and fragrant Polis tower garden, she probably would have laughed in their face. And yet here she was, and so were Raven, Octavia, and Lexa, all of whom seemed to be having a competition to see who could stuff the most cake in their faces.

“I can't help it,” Octavia had said, through a full mouth. “It’s just so good!”

Lexa didn’t attempt to offer her own agreement, likely because her mouth was too full to form words, but simply nodded frantically and kept eating.

Clarke rolled her eyes. “By all means, continue...not like I’m eating for four or anything over here.”

Lexa had the good grace to look somewhat abashed, and offered her current slice of cake to Clarke, but she just laughed and stroked her alpha’s arm in silent forgiveness.

“So, I know we're going to do the full prenatal checkup later, but how are you feeling?” Abby asked, looking at Clarke with a strange expression of mingled worry and pride.

Clarke shrugged. “Tired and huge and sore. They haven’t let me get a full night's sleep in ages, they’re always up kicking… I think they probably want out just as much as I want them out.” This didn’t seem like the appropriate venue to mention Lexa's habit of singing to their pups whenever they were keeping Clarke awake with their movements, soft songs in _Trigedasleng_ of hope and love and peace. She wasn't sure if Lexa's voice truly quieted their children, but she knew that more than once she had drifted off to the clear, pure sound of her mate's singing.

Abby smiled, a little wistfully. “Well, they take after their mother, then. If they're anything like you were when you were born…well, let's just say you're lucky you have a whole tower full of servants to help you out.”

Clarke's chest spiked with anxiety that she knew was absurd, but right now emotional regulation wasn’t exactly her strong suit. “Yeah, but you'll stay here for a bit after they're born, right?”

“Of course,” Abby said, stroking her arm soothingly. “You didn’t think I’d come all this way just to leave you to handle three pups all by yourselves, did you? And besides, Marcus has been dying to take me on a tour of Polis. We didn't have much of a chance for that last time I was here, what with the wedding and the…the flame-sticky thing.”

_“Fleimstika,”_ Clarke said, rolling her eyes. She knew her mom was just trying to get a rise out of her, but unfortunately it was working. “You’ve gotta brush up on your Trig, Mom. I would say _Marcus_ could help you with that, but you guys probably have more ‘important' stuff to do…”

Abby didn’t take the bait. “Yes, we do,” she said rather smugly.

Clarke groaned. “Ugh, gross. Forget I said anything.”

They sat in silence for a while, sipping lemonade and drinking in the late summer sunshine. Clarke looked out into the garden, watching the play of shadow and sunlight through the leaves, enjoying the cool, sweet-smelling breeze that lifted her sweaty hair off the back of her neck. Eventually, as they always did, her eyes fell upon a favorite tree of hers and Lexa's, a cherry from which a few late blossoms still hung. Clarke's lips curved up in an involuntary smile as she remembered the last time her mother had been here, at midday on Midsummer, to see Clarke pledge her troth and bind her spirit to Lexa's.

There had been a public announcement, of course, with all the feasting and celebration that an occasion such as the marriage of the Commander should entail. But the ceremony itself had been a private one in this very garden. The Singer had sung the Anthem, but a much quieter, more sedate version, the warlike words rendered peaceful by the absence of horns and drums. Clarke had crossed the terrace onto the garden path on a carpet of flower petals to see her friends and family standing there, smiling and waving, interspersed with all the residents of the tower, and a few more besides: Clarke was sure she had spotted Geib, accompanied by a tall, kindly-looking alpha with grey hair, and Dayna and her family. They bowed to her as she passed by, and Clarke acknowledged them with a nod or a smile, but soon her eyes and breath were caught by the woman who waited for her beneath the cherry tree.

It had still had many of its blooms at that time, and on any other day would have been a vision of pure loveliness, but Clarke barely even noticed it. Lexa was dressed in pale green, as was Clarke – it was the traditional color for a _Trikru_ wedding, meant to symbolize new beginnings, new life. And speaking of which…Clarke knew her heart rate must have picked up, because she could feel her pups stirring in her belly as she steadily approached the altar set up beneath the branches.

Lexa had looked at her as though she had stars in her eyes, as though she had hung the moon and sun herself. There was infinity in that clear green gaze, lifetimes worth of care and happiness and sorrow, as though all of Lexa's past lives were looking at her with all the love they'd ever felt. But when Clarke took the hand that reached out for hers, felt the warm, rough comfort of its skin, it was only Lexa, her mate, the sire of her pups; not her first love, but her final one.

The words of the ceremony flowed from both of them like wine, twin fountains of heady joy that twined and sparkled together in the summer sunlight. It had felt revolutionary to Clarke to be standing here, hands in Lexa's, declaring their love before all who loved them and hearing it affirmed in turn. They vowed to love one another through all the winds of change and hardship and heartbreak life might throw at them, to sail together across seas both stormy and calm; and to raise their children beneath the sheltering shade of their love and care, which would grow as a great tree through all the years of their life.

When it was finished, the celebrant had bound their wrists together with a red cord, and then they turned to face the cheering, clapping crowd, raising their hands together in the air. Tears spilled from the corners of Clarke’s eyes as easily as summer rain, but they were mostly of happiness. Still, she hadn’t been able to avoid thinking about the missing faces in the crowd, those she’d lost to this harsh new world, to the fight to let things grow in it again. Wells, Finn, the friends she’d left under the Mountain…and her father, even though he had perished before she had come to Earth. She wished more than anything that all of them could be here, could see her happiness come to fruition.

But then she remembered Lexa’s words: _Death is not the end._ Perhaps, she had thought, they were here in some form, looking upon her with contentment and love.

When she had turned to look at Lexa, Clarke saw that her mate’s joy was nearly as complete as her own. For all intents and purposes, as she smiled and waved at the crowd in acknowledgment, she seemed just as happy as Clarke. But Clarke knew, by Lexa’s scent and the quiet sadness lurking at the corners of her eyes, that she, too, was thinking of those she’d loved and lost, of those who weren’t here today. Some of the tears she was shedding had turned bitter as she realized that Lexa’s list was much longer than her own.

_The Nightbloods, Costia, Anya, Gustus, Aden…and Titus._

Lexa had confessed to her the night before the wedding that she had always imagined it being officiated by Titus. Few Commanders had ever taken mates this way, but it was traditionally the _Fleimkepa’s_ duty, as the only officiant high enough in status to enjoin _Heda_ in the bonds of matrimony, to perform the ceremony. Lexa had let the pain she felt at the absence of her mentor, at his betrayal and at his ultimate leavetaking, crack through her voice she spoke to Clarke, and Clarke had held her and whispered soothing nonsense into her hair even though she knew that the only thing that could truly soothe this ache was time.

For Titus _was_ gone.

His wounds had been deep and grave, and Clarke had put his chances of survival at about 35 percent, and yet somehow he’d pulled through. Because of Lexa’s cry of anguish when she had lost Aden, Clarke worked through the night alongside the tower’s best healers to stitch Titus up and stabilize him, because as deeply conflicted as she was about saving the life of the man who had nearly killed her mate, she wasn’t about to let Lexa lose someone else she cared about. It had been touch and go, but despite the severity of his injuries, Titus had pulled through.

He had spent nearly a month languishing in recovery. Lexa had visited him every day, mostly sitting in silence with him for a little while, as the wound to his throat prevented him from speaking and he was too weak to hold a pen. The Nightbloods also visited him fairly often, in a little wide-eyed gaggle, filling the dimness of the small, bare room with noise and chatter about the things they’d done and learned that day.

It cheered Clarke to hear them, but she couldn’t help the surges of resentment that sometimes filled her at the thought that Titus was receiving this comfort at all. There were times when she found herself strongly considering slipping poison into his food, the kind that would make it look as though he’d simply caught a fever from his wounds and been unable to shake it. She was _Wanheda,_ after all, she who commanded death—but the confused and sorrowful look on Lexa’s face whenever she came out of that room stayed Clarke’s hand. She would not kill Titus—at least, not until her mate had had the chance to resolve the conflict in her heart.

At last the day had come when he was well enough to walk, and he had dressed himself in his robe of office and asked for an audience with the Commander. Clarke and Lexa had been finishing up a late breakfast, one in which she’d seen her mate smile for the first time in what felt like years when Clarke flicked a dollop of whipped cream at a saucy Nightblood and started a riotous food fight. They had been sheepishly helping to clean the dining hall under the wrathful eye of Brenna when the guard had come in with Titus’s request.

After making sure the Nightbloods were not going to attempt escape before the room had been thoroughly scrubbed, Clarke and Lexa made their way to the throne room. Clarke had wondered why Titus wouldn’t just come to them, but insisted on having a formal audience, but Lexa hadn’t replied. When Clarke looked at her, the alpha’s jaw was clenched, her lips set in a tight, thin line. Her scent was riddled with agitation, but before Clarke could ask her what was wrong, the door guards announced their arrival and swung open the heavy wooden doors.

Titus was already kneeling on the floor before the twin thrones. Lexa had hurried forward and gripped his arm, attempting to coax him to his feet, but Titus had gently shaken her off. It quickly became clear that no amount of cajoling or commanding from Lexa would convince him to speak before they had taken their thrones, and so Lexa had stalked off to do so, plopping herself in the seat with a furious huff. But as Clarke had taken her own seat, she realized that the smell coming from her mate was one of anxiety, not anger. Clarke felt her own begin to rise in answer, but she reached out to take her mate’s hand anyway, hoping to provide some comfort. Lexa was gripping the arms of her throne so tightly that Clarke could see her fingernails beginning to dig into the wood.

_“Chich ai op, Tytos,”_ Lexa had ordered, voice tight with tension and layered with alpha command. _“Tel yu Heda op hakom yu komba raun hir.”_

At last, the beta had lifted his head. He didn’t look well—he was much paler and thinner than before Ontari’s attack, his eyes sunken and ringed with dark circles. Clarke knew from the other healers that he asked for a sleeping draught every night, and even then could often be found pacing the halls of the tower in the small hours.

“I come to ask for your judgement, _Heda,”_ Titus said in heavy, formal _Trigedasleng._ He spoke in a whispery rasp, as he had ever since Ontari’s sword damaged his vocal cords.

Lexa had leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “What judgement do you seek?”

“I ask that I be granted the mercy of death for my assault against my Commander.”

Clarke froze, eyes snapping wide, but Lexa was already on her feet. “Enough, Titus,” she growled, teeth bared. “I will hear no more of this.”

Titus had risen as well. His voice remained emotionless and flat, but there was a snap of something in his eyes that hinted at passion. “It is the law, _Heda,”_ he told her. “Your law. The punishment for an attempt on the Commander’s life is—”

_“Jus drein nou jus daun_ is my law,” Lexa snarled, marching down the steps to stand toe to toe with her _ticha._ Clarke followed shakily, feeling as though her limbs were made of lead.

“This cannot be forgiven!” Titus said. His volume had barely risen but his feelings were plain in his clenched and shaking fists. “By my hand—because of my—my actions, I nearly killed you!”

“But you didn’t!” Lexa shouted, and Clarke had understood in that moment just what was behind her mate’s sudden rise in temper. The widened eyes, the flaring nostrils, the bared teeth. Lexa was afraid.

_Afraid of losing the last person who knows her as anyone other than the Commander,_ Clarke had realized. She turned and made a furtive gesture to the guards who lined the room, ordering them with frantic motions of her hands to leave. This was not a confrontation for anyone else to witness—indeed, Clarke was wondering whether she herself ought to leave.

“It cannot be this way,” Titus said. “The Commander’s life cannot be held so cheaply.”

“Weren’t you the one always saying that it was the Flame that mattered? That I was nothing but a vessel?” Lexa cried, voice shaking on its last note. Clarke realized that Lexa was perilously close to breaking down, and hastened to her mate’s side, slipping her hand into Lexa’s. The alpha’s fingers closed hard around Clarke’s, and Clarke squeezed back just as tightly.

“I…I was wrong,” Titus said, making Lexa’s jaw drop. “I have been studying the texts of my order, the words of the _Fleimkepas_ who came before me, all the way back to the one who served the first Commander. I saw how their rhetoric has been changed, twisted… But you matter, _Heda—Leksa._ You have always mattered.”

Their jaws were tight, their eyes bright and shining at the corners, and even though Clarke knew that Titus and Lexa were not related by blood she could suddenly see the family resemblance. Again Clarke had the sense that she was intruding upon an intimate moment, and thought about edging away, but then Lexa shook her head viciously.

“No,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “I will not kill you. You are _Fleimkepa,_ and you have yet to train a successor. If you die, all of our sacred knowledge, our traditions, our heritage, dies with you.” Lexa paused, jaw working as she struggled not to let the tears welling in her eyes begin to seep down her cheeks. “So you see, Titus? You matter too.”

Titus's mouth twisted into a sad smile. “I know that you are trying to be merciful, _Heda,_ but as yet you still have not learned to separate feelings from duty.”

Lexa let out a furious, anguished snarl and turned away, shoulders hunched. Clarke ached to reach out for her, to offer the comfort of her touch, but the convoluted swirl of scent pouring from her mate suggested it might not be appreciated. They stood there a while, the silence filled with all the things they couldn’t say: _I love you, I hate you, I'm sorry…_ Maybe Lexa did understand, Clarke thought, how she felt about Bellamy—how you could still care for someone who had done so much harm, how feelings and history didn’t just disappear with their wrongdoing. There was no love lost between Clarke and Titus, but she couldn’t help feeling some sympathy for him, to be denied the death he thought he deserved.

“If you will not pass judgement on me, then I would ask to speak to _Wanheda_ alone,” Titus said in a thick voice.

Lexa whirled on him, eyes blazing. _“Nowe._ You already tried to kill her once.”

“I gave you my word that I would not harm her,” Titus told her, “and as you said yourself, I have trained no successor. There are things I must tell her that no Commander may hear.”

Clarke had a sneaking suspicion what he was getting at, but she dismissed it as ludicrous. There was no chance that Titus could be thinking of anointing the omega he'd so recently credited with nearly bringing the Coalition to chaos and ruin as his successor. But now he seemed to be confirming that that was indeed what he meant. Her eyes went wide, and so did Lexa's.

“What are you doing, Titus?” she asked, her voice filled with mingled suspicion and wonder.

“Securing your legacy, and giving it into the hands of one who can renew it.”

Lexa shook her head, but Clarke found her voice. “I’ll be okay, Lexa,” she said, stepping between her mate and Titus and placing a soothing hand on her arm. The muscles there were steel bands of tension, and she could see another jumping in Lexa's jaw. The pain and confusion and anger in the alpha's eyes were difficult to bear, yet Clarke kept her gaze fixed steadily on Lexa's, doing her best to project calm assurance even though her own stomach roiled with uncertainty. Lexa stared at her, breathing a little more quickly than usual, fear and worry plain on her face and in her scent. After a long moment, she nodded once.

“Thank you, _Heda, Wanheda,”_ Titus said, inclining his head to both of them. Clarke let out a breath. A certain amount of tension had dissipated from the room, although another had yet to be addressed. Knowing she was taking a risk, Clarke leaned up and placed a swift kiss on Lexa's lips.

“I’ll be okay, Lexa,” she said, forcing a small smile. “I can take care of myself.”

Lexa's entire body seemed to vibrate with worry, eyes darting back and forth between Clarke and Titus. Clarke knew it must be taking a lot out of her to allow her mate, pregnant with her pups, to leave in the company of a man who had tried to murder her. Clarke's only warning was a sharp intake of breath before Lexa seized her hips and drew her close, pulling her into a deep kiss. She was liberal with teeth and tongue, and Clarke could taste the fire of her mate's passion, her possessiveness, her worry and her love. She was left gasping when Lexa released her, dizzy with sensation, but Lexa’s attention was already on Titus.

“If any harm comes to her, _Fleimkepa…”_ She did not go on, but she didn’t have to. The low rumble of her voice, resonant with so much alpha authority, brooked no challenge – and no uncertainty. She had never been more the picture of the alpha ruler and champion, the protector whose word was law, and despite the gravity of the moment Clarke couldn’t help the shiver that ran through her body.

“You have my word, _Heda,”_ Titus said, head low in submission and humility.

Lexa had dismissed him with a nod, and Clarke had followed him out of the throne room.

***

A burst of laughter startled Clarke from her thoughts, bringing a smile to her face automatically because it included Lexa's own voice. Her mate's laughter was never swift to come, and often seemed a little hesitant, but it had been months since Aden's death before Clarke even saw her smile. Hearing Lexa laughing freely and unselfconsciously – and with her friends, no less – made Clarke's heart throb, but in a good way.

“What’d I miss?” she asked, but that only occasioned a fresh peal of laughter.

“Lexa and Octavia have a score to settle,” Abby explained, smirking while the others tried to quiet their giggling. “They've decided they want to go down to the training ring.”

“I did promise Indra I would help assess Octavia's readiness for her _Trafaya,”_ Lexa told Clarke, dipping her head a little apologetically, but the grin twitching at the corners of her lips made it impossible for Clarke to be upset. “Is that all right, _niron?_ Or would you prefer that I stay?”

“Man, she has got you _whipped,”_ Raven said, snickering, but Lexa only growled at her a little, eyes still on Clarke.

“Go,” Clarke told her, smiling even though she ached a bit to lose her mate. “Have fun and try not to kill each other. I'll be all right with my mom.”

Lexa couldn’t hold back her grin, leaning forward to give Clarke a swift kiss before launching herself out of her seat after Octavia.

“Let's go, Commander,” Clarke heard the other omega say as they trotted swiftly out of the garden. “We’ll see if you can even keep up with me. Because while you’ve been busy nesting, I’ve been busy training.”

“I've forgotten more about combat that you’ll ever know, _Okteivia kom Skaikru,”_ Lexa growled, and then they were gone.

Raven rolled her eyes. _“Gona,_ amirite?”

Clarke looked at her in surprise. “Since when did you know Trig?”

To her astonishment, Raven blushed, clamping her mouth shut. It was Abby who said laughingly, “Ever since the _Trikru_ liaison started taking a _very_ keen interest in engineering.”

Clarke grinned at her friend. “Oh, really? Well, isn't _that_ new and interesting information.”

Raven lurched out of her chair, glowering at Abby. “I need to go make sure the machines are set up properly. With our luck, one of those lunkheads has already broken something.”

“Sure you do,” Clarke laughed, but Raven was already limping off in the direction of the tower. Knowing that once the beta got inside, she'd probably have no clue where to go, Clarke caught the eye of one of her guards and flicked her gaze in Raven's direction. Ronek nodded and followed after Raven.

“So in your last letter, you mentioned something about your studies,” Abby said carefully, “but you haven’t really elaborated on what those studies are.”

Clarke swallowed, feeling somberness creeping over her once more. In part, she wasn’t sure how much she wanted to tell Abby; in part, she wasn’t sure how much she could. Titus had been adamant that the secrets of the _Fleimkepas_ were to be kept among those of the order alone, with a carefully curated version taught to the Nightbloods and the Commander. It had shocked Clarke initially that certain things were kept even from _Heda_ herself, but as she had delved more deeply into the archives, she had begun to understand why.

Her mother was still looking at her expectantly, and Clarke knew she would have to work out a narrative to tell her people somehow. There were many revelations contained in those annals that answered questions the Arkers had been asking for generations. The right story could be a bridge between the Sky People and the Grounders; the wrong one could tear them completely asunder.

“So…you remember Titus, right?” Clarke said slowly, earning herself a mildly contemptuous look. Ignoring it, she forged on, “Well, he…named me _Fleimkepa_ before he…left.”

Abby's eyebrows flew up. “That’s…good, I suppose? What does that mean?”

Clarke's mind churned, struggling to come up with a way to package her new role into a few sentences that wouldn’t create more questions than answers. “Well, it means that I'm kind of an advisor to Lexa, helping her make decisions in the context of Coalition law and tradition. I'm also in charge of securing the Commander's legacy, so I help train the Nightbloods, making sure that they have a thorough grounding in the lore and duties of _Heda._ And I’m in charge of…of succession. If Lexa were to die, I would convene the Conclave that would choose the next Commander.”

The words were hard to force out of her mouth, in part because they were hard to contemplate. The thought of Lexa dying was even more impossible to her than it had been, despite how close they’d come and the danger that Lexa was sure to face, simply because of who and what she was. And yet Clarke found herself having to confront the prospect daily, even though it sometimes made her shudder and push herself abruptly away from the table so as not to drip tears onto the ancient, priceless tomes she was studying. But there was something inside her now, born of the knowledge she'd gained and of the fire they'd walked through together, that made her assured: Lexa wasn’t dying anytime soon, but if and when she did, she would live on.

Abby was looking at her quietly with something approaching sympathy, and maybe even a little wonder. “That’s…pretty heavy,” she said, when Clarke met her eyes. “I won’t ask you if you can handle it, because...” She let out a wry chuckle. “Given what you’ve accomplished since you came to Earth, I’m not sure there’s anything you can’t handle. But if you need to talk about it sometime, or just have a shoulder to lean on…” Abby reached out and took Clarke's hand. “I’m here.”

Clarke smiled, her throat suddenly growing thick. “Thanks, Mom.”

But the love and sympathy in her mother's eyes was too much to bear for long. Clarke let go of her hand under the pretext of reaching for her glass of lemonade, and cast her eyes out on the garden once more, watching the shadows of the trees sway across the white gravel paths. The garden was groomed and tended in such a way as to suggest both careful, purposeful planning and also an untamable wildness, even in the center of the city. If there was anything more _Lexa_ in the whole world than this paradox, Clarke had never seen it. The reminder of her mate served to soothe her heart, but her mind raced on, unable to keep from delving into the memory of her first descent into the mysteries of the Commander.

Titus had taken her to the lowest floor of the tower, and then he had led her through corridors that grew dingier and more dilapidated by the moment, festooned with spiderwebs and exposed beams trailing long-dead wires. Just when Clarke was completely certain that he was taking her somewhere to kill her and hide her body, they reached a low, dark room, at the back of which was a pair of doors that unmistakably led to an elevator. Titus turned a heavy metal crank appended to those doors, slowly winching them open, and revealed a cage suspended above a long, dark void. He gestured for her to enter, but Clarke wasn’t willing to give him her back. She shook her head.

“You first.”

Titus nodded, and entered the cage. After peering carefully into every corner of the small space, Clarke followed. She leaned against the back wall as he cranked the doors shut, taking comfort in the feeling of the smooth metal of the gun stuck in her waistband.

Titus rang a bell hanging on the front of the cage, sending a clear, bright chime echoing up and down the elevator shaft. Before its reverberations had even faded, the lift groaned into motion, cranked by an unseen hand. Slowly, they descended into darkness. Clarke curled her fingers even harder around the grip of her gun, every sense straining for even the hint of movement that might suggest Titus was moving in for an attack, but she could detect nothing.

“It will not be long.”

Titus's voice, echoing out of the near-total darkness, made her jump. Drawing a shaky breath, Clarke said, “I didn’t even know there were floors below the tower.”

“Most don't,” Titus said. “It is one of the secrets of my…our…order.”

As he spoke, Clarke noticed a faint blue glow approaching from below. _Well, at least now I know he’s not just planning to drop us into a bottomless pit._ As they drew nearer, she realized that the flickering light was coming from four torches, one at each corner of the bottom of the shaft. “The eternal flames,” Titus told her. “Much like the one at the top of the tower.”

“Yeah, except infinitely creepier,” Clarke muttered under her breath. Titus ignored her in favor of winding the cage doors open.

A low, square tunnel led into a cave-like room, its rough-hewn walls flickering with the shadows of more blue flames. Those walls were covered with images painted directly onto the concrete, a long history of wars and rulers stretching back generations. Red was a color in prominent usage, depicting blood and fire in copious quantity. The paintings almost seemed to dance in the eerie blue light, history coming alive before Clarke's eyes.

The room was strewn about with rubble, as though from the collapse of a building many years ago—or the collapse of a society, Clarke thought, eyes widening as she realized where she was, and what the crude but vivid images meant: _the end of the world._

The rubble had been cleared from the center of the room, leaving a bare, clean-swept space, empty except for a few low columns on which a variety of items were displayed. Although most of them were rendered obscure by the flickering shadows, Clarke made out what looked like a piece of an old transmitter, much like the one that had come down with the Delinquents on the shuttle. She frowned at it, preparing to wonder how Titus had come by such technology, when a shroud of red cloth caught her eye, piled with some reverence atop a concrete slab. The fabric looked strikingly familiar, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on why.

Titus came to a stop among the relics, the detritus of an old world made sacrosanct by the one that rose from its ashes. He paused for a moment, reaching out to caress one of the objects on display, before turning to face Clarke. “Welcome to the Temple of the Flame,” he told her, in a voice so solemn it would have been ridiculous in any other setting. “Ordinarily, no one sets foot here unless they have gone through many years of rigorous training, and are ready to be inducted into the most sacred mysteries of our people.” Titus's lips quirked in what might have been a grin, or a grimace. “Except you, of course.”

Clarke could tell there was an insult in there somewhere, but she ignored it in favor of asking, “What is this place?”

“It is the sanctum for those of my order, the _Fleimkepas,_ charged with seeking out Nightbloods and delivering them to the Conclave—the fire from which _Heda_ is born.”

Clarke narrowed her eyes at him. She knew this part.

As though sensing her impatience, Titus continued, “Our duties also include keeping the lore of the Commander, and the secrets of how she came to be.”

Clarke frowned. “What do you mean?”

Titus's movements had until now been slow and cautious, as befitted a man still recovering from a severe injury. But his steps as he strode past her to the far wall were so swift as to startle Clarke. She curled her fist around the grip of her gun so hard it dug into her palm as she whirled to keep him in view.

Titus moved past her as though she was barely even there, to splay his hand against the wall, just below one of the paintings. Cautiously, Clarke came closer, and was able to make out what looked to be an approximation of tall towers with flames roiling out of them, and hundreds of tiny stick figures fleeing the devastation. Rising above them was a familiar sight that made Clarke suck in a breath: the unmistakable shape of a mushroom cloud.

“Many years ago,” Titus intoned, “so many that our people have lost count, there was _Praimfaya—_ the fire that ended the world. You thought the ground to be uninhabited when you first came here, yes?”

Clarke could only nod. Her eyes were still fixed on the fleeing crowd, imagining the death and chaos and ruin. In this strange, creepy place with its eerie blue lights, she felt she could almost hear the screams.

“It very nearly was,” Titus told her. “Only a few survived the fire, and they were sick and starving, fighting amongst themselves for scraps. In little time, all would have perished and the world would have lain fallow.” Titus's hand made a dry scraping noise as he slid it along the wall, coming to rest beneath another painting—this one done in dull greys and blacks, depicting a few scattered forms picking among rubble and ruin.

Titus moved once more until he stood before the painting in the center of the room. He brushed his fingers over it once, reverently, almost lovingly, before turning back to Clarke. “And then she came. _Bekka,_ called _Pramheda—_ the First Commander. She fell from the sky and came to us with fire in her mind. She healed our sick and treated our wounds, and united our warring bands into the Coalition. That did not last, of course.” Titus gestured at the remaining paintings, most of which involved war and copious rivers of red. “But she created the position of _Heda_ to rule over us, and created the order of the _Fleimkepas,_ whom she charged with preserving her legacy.”

Clarke felt as though she was walking towards the edge of a precipice with the intent of peering down into the abyss as she approached the painting. It was relatively simple—a female figure in dark paint emerged from a small structure—a cave, maybe? A blaze of white paint surrounded her, and the flickering, twisting shadows made it almost seem to glow. Above her head was a symbol Clarke knew well. She had seen it on the back of Lexa's neck, a tattoo of an infinity symbol with a final, broken line. It was drawn in blue, and outlined oddly, so it almost seemed like an oblong octagon with strange ridges.

When Clarke drew closer still to get a better look at it, something else caught her eye. What she had thought was yet more rubble and debris piled in the corner of the room just next to the painting of _Pramheda_ was glinting dully in the firelight. Clarke felt a trembling feeling in her chest as she diverted her steps towards the object, a sense of eerie familiarity creeping over her.

“That is the vessel that brought her to us,” Titus said, but Clarke barely heard him. There was no way the thing in the corner could be what she thought it was. Only when Clarke got close enough that there was really no mistaking it. Somehow, impossibly, it was an escape pod—not unlike the one Raven had used to get to Earth. “Holy…shit…”

But that wasn’t even the most incredible thing about it. When Clarke reached out to brush away the dirt of many years with her sleeve, she saw faded letters stamped along its metal side:

P O L     I S

“Polis,” Clarke whispered. This was how the city had gotten its name. But as Clarke stared at it, at this shard of what had once been her world that had come to rest at the heart of Lexa's, the pieces of the puzzle began to take shape. Vague memories of history classes she’d drowsed through on the Ark swirled in her mind, fractured images that she struggled to make sense of…until she did.

“Polaris,” she said, on the breath that wasn’t stolen by the gravity of the realization. “The Thirteenth Station. _Bekka…_ Becca was one of us.”

Clarke was mildly surprised that she couldn’t feel the earth shaking under her feet. The fact that the Grounders’ first Commander, the one who had laid the foundations of their way of life, was a refugee from the destruction of the rogue station that led to the unity of all the others, was utterly groundbreaking. What it might mean for that truth to come out, for the Twelve Clans to learn that their history was intimately intertwined with that of the Thirteenth, Clarke wasn’t sure. But warmth cut through the chill of sudden understanding. Their stories—both _Skaikru_ and _Kyongedon,_ but Clarke and Lexa’s as well—had always been the same story. They had diverged for a while, but they were back together now.

_Where we always belonged._

When Clarke turned, stars flashing in her eyes, it took her a moment to realize that Titus’s face was grimmer than usual. His voice sounded like stones grinding together as he said gravely, “Whether or not that is true, it is a grave claim to make. The Coalition is still fragile, and such a thing might shatter it. I would advise that you keep it to yourself, at least for a while.”

A cold tendril of fear shivered down Clarke’s spine as she was reminded that she was down here alone, with Titus, who had no love for her. She reached behind herself as casually as she could to grip her gun once more as she told him, “It’s the truth, and it’ll have to come out eventually.”

Titus sighed. “Be that as it may, I believe it would be best to wait until a moment when the political climate is more settled.” His scent held a subtle hint of challenge as he said, “You do not want war again.” _…Do you?_ hung unspoken in the air between them.

Clarke’s anger flared, but she forced it back down. Despite the unvoiced insult, Titus was right. “I’ll discuss it with the Commander, and we’ll figure it out,” she bit off. She had been expecting Titus to argue, but to her astonishment he merely dipped his head.

“Very well.”

The silence hung heavily in the air between them, and Clarke felt abruptly conscious of the present of all those tons of steel and stone and rubble above them, almost as though the weight of the tower, of the whole city, had come to rest on her shoulders. Despite hating him for what he had done to Lexa, and what he had almost done to their whole world, she felt a stab of empathy for him as well. Was this how Titus felt every day? The set of his shoulders said yes.

“There is more you should know,” Titus said, “but little time in which to teach you. For most of it, I will refer you to the words of my predecessors.” He moved over to the back wall, where a set of battered metal bookcases stood against the concrete. They were packed with books of varying shapes, sizes, and types – some were hardbound, others were bound in leather, and a few even looked like the spiral-bound notebooks Clarke had written and doodled in during her youth.

“These are the annals of the _Fleimkepas,”_ Titus told her, brushing his hand along the spines of a row of books. “They contain the collected knowledge of our order, both the history of our people as each Keeper saw it and the understanding they gained of what it means to be Heda, and what it means to keep the Commander’s Flame.”

Fury seared through Clarke as he said that word. Suddenly, she was back in that room with Lexa, her life seeping out from a hole in her stomach, and all Titus cared about—all _Lexa_ cared about; all he had taught her to care about—was that stupid Flame. Clarke realized she was shaking, and folded her arms, both so Titus wouldn’t see and so she wasn’t tempted to do something stupid, like strangle him.

“What is this Flame, anyway?” she said, impressed with how level she was managing to keep her voice. But her scent must have betrayed her, because Titus’s eyes were wide in the dimness, suggesting he smelled her towering fury. “Why the hell is it so _fucking important_ that you were willing to let your Commander die for it?”

Titus eyed her like she was a wounded, cornered animal, liable to turn savage at any moment—which wasn’t far off from how she felt. “It is the Spirit of the Commander,” he said cautiously, making Clarke snarl.

“Yeah, I got that,” she said harshly. “But what _is_ it?”

Titus raised his hands. “Let me show you.”

Clarke tightened her grip on her gun but gave him a tense nod, and he backed his way to the escape pod. With a final glance over his shoulder, he turned, fiddling with something on its front. Clarke’s eyes narrowed as she attempted to figure out what he was doing, whether it might be a trap. But then a soft but clearly recognizable pneumatic hiss seared through the still air, and the door to the pod swung open.

Clarke strained her eyes, but she couldn’t see much more than darkness as Titus reached into the pod. He withdrew his hand a moment later and approached her with steady, careful steps, something held reverently in his cupped palms. When he neared, Clarke realized she’d seen these items before: they were what Titus had gone to fetch as Lexa lay bleeding out on her bed. Instead of going for a healer or medical supplies, he’d brought an archaic surgical kit and a strange metal tin with a skull design on the front. Clarke’s stomach roiled, and she couldn’t tell whether she wanted to shoot Titus dead or vomit all over him.

Titus offered the objects to her, and with great reluctance Clarke took them, attempting not to let him see her hands shake. She expected Titus to say something else, tell her what she was supposed to do with these things, given that nobody was dying, nobody was dead— _yet—_ but instead, he turned away again, returning to the escape pod. This time, it seemed to take him a little more time to find what he was looking for, and Clarke turned her attention to the items in her hands. Dull curiosity, as well as a desire to not think about the last time she’d seen these things, caused her to open the little metal box.

Inside was a padded interior, with an odd shape cut out of the insulation that after a moment, Clarke realized she recognized. Looking up at the wall, she saw that shape mirrored in the painting of the elongated octagon emblazoned with Lexa’s symbol. Clarke frowned, but before she could make sense of it, Titus returned.

Just as reverently as before, he carried a small leatherbound book in his hands. When he offered it to Clarke, beckoning for her to set aside the other objects on a nearby plinth, there was great worry and trepidation in his eyes.

“This is the journal of _Bekka Pramheda,”_ he told her as she took it. “She wrote it near her death, wanting to keep an account of her days and of her works and teaching for our people. Some of her words we do not understand; either they were known only to Bekka or their meaning has been lost to time. But maybe, if what you say is true, you may be able to decipher them.”

Detecting a change in Titus's voice, Clarke looked up. There was still mostly suspicion and skepticism in his eyes, but there was also the beginning of something that might be belief.

When Titus nodded at the book, indicating that Clarke was to read it, she let out a silent sigh but opened it carefully. It was old, the leather binding cracked and worn, and she knew the pages were probably very delicate. Inscribed on the first page, in a neat, careful hand, were the words:

_Journal of Becca Alvis,_

_called Pramheda_

_or_

_The Book of the Flame_

The journal began on the next page, in slightly different handwriting. While still careful, the lettering wasn’t quite as neat. It reminded Clarke a little of how her mother wrote when she was concentrating very hard on being intelligible—readably enough, but still with a hint of that doctorly scrawl.

_My name is Becca Pramheda, and I ended the world._

Clarke's blood went cold.

There was no way. No way the first Commander, the first to light the beacon of hope in the darkness that had swept the world all those years ago, could have been the one to call that darkness forth. But the more Clarke read, the more she believed.

She read of Becca’s experiments, her naïve altruism and foolish pride as she designed ALIE, the AI that had brought about the apocalypse. She had meant ALIE to be a solution to the world’s problems, a being of greater intelligence than any human could boast—but she had forgotten to build in a soul. As ALIE took form, it became clear that she didn’t have any understanding of the value of human life, as Becca learned, to her horror, when what should have been her proudest moment became the harbinger of the world’s doom. 

_“Please state your core command,” I asked ALIE, and beamed when she replied:_

_“My core command is to make life better.”_

_“How would you do that?” I said, trembling a bit. This was the question I’d built her to solve, the hardest problem that humanity’s ever faced: how to make life better for all of us._

_“By fixing the root problem,” ALIE said, smiling placidly at me with my own face._

_I took a deep breath. “What is the root problem, ALIE?”_

_ALIE’s smile never wavered, and her tone didn’t change. “Too many people.”_

Clarke felt sick. Too many people. She could almost picture the cold-blooded, lizard-like stare of the AI, the unemotional way she delivered the words. _Too many people._ Becca hadn’t known it at the time, but that had been the death sentence for the old world.

Clarke’s hands shook as she paged through the journal, skimming through Becca’s spare yet vivid descriptions of the way the world ended, the frantic ascent of the Ark, watching the nuclear missiles cross oceans and continents before falling like shooting stars, destroying everything they touched. Tears filled Clarke’s eyes, and she had to lean back to prevent them from falling onto the journal’s delicate pages, as she read about Becca’s heart-wrenching agony and despair as she watched it all happen, watched ALIE fulfill her core command, wiping out billions of lives in a matter of seconds.

Words and diagrams and careful, draftsman-like drawings blurred through Clarke’s fingers as she flipped through the pages, barely seeing them, hardly reading. The only thing Becca had left was soul-sickening guilt and a bitter determination to somehow fix this, to make it right—but how could she possibly even begin? Clarke couldn’t imagine. The things she’d done, the lives she’d taken, haunted her, ate at her, even though she couldn’t imagine how she might have done them differently. But even she, _Wanheda,_ didn’t have nearly as much blood on her hands as _Bekka Pramheda._

Clarke was very near to closing the book, handing it back to Titus, because she couldn’t stand reading any more of Becca’s fumbling attempts to correct the grievous mistake she’d made. But then a drawing caught her eye, a shock of familiarity in a world that had been rendered strange by the lifting of its veil of secrets.

It was much the same as the drawing on the wall of the cave, the oblong octagon with the broken lemniscate in the center, the same one tattooed on the back of Lexa’s neck. Clarke sucked in a breath. What the hell was that doing here? She forced herself to slow down, to try and find a place on the page where she could jump back into the narrative, derive some explanation for why the symbol of ALIE, the world-ender, was indelibly inked into her mate’s skin.

_The only way I can think to even begin to undo the harm I’ve done is to correct my hypothesis: that any being composed by necessarily flawed human intelligence can ever truly understand problems that its creator couldn’t grasp. So even before Polaris had reached its orbital trajectory, I was hard at work on ALIE 2.0: the AI that could… well, not undo the harms that ALIE 1.0 did, because nothing can do that. Instead, ALIE 2.0 will be capable of learning: from my mistakes, and from the thoughts and lives and emotions of everyone it comes into contact with._

_This is the only thing that can save us. They didn’t believe me on Polaris—they destroyed the station rather than giving me a chance to fix my mistakes. I can’t say I blame them. But I’m certain of it now: ALIE 1.0 didn’t understand what it meant to be human, didn’t understand why a catastrophic loss of life would be monstrous and wrong. But ALIE 2.0 will understand. It's designed to interface with humanity on a biological level, connecting to the brain via the spinal column. I created the Nightblood serum so the host won't reject the implant, but will be able to maintain connection throughout their life and beyond. The serum should be transmissible genetically. It will be rare, but it should surface among the population enough to ensure a steady supply of candidates._

_ALIE 2.0 will understand the value of life by coexisting with us. It will learn and grow with its symbiotic partner, and eventually use its vast store of knowledge to make suggestions. It will augment instead of controlling; come up with new methods of problem-solving that would be beyond one person to invent, because it won't just be one person: it will be the minds of everyone it's come into contact with, working alongside ALIE's massive processing power._

_It—no, she—will be large. She will contain multitudes. And she will lead us out of the darkness by the light of her Flame._

Clarke couldn’t read any more. Her head was spinning with the enormity of what had been revealed, of what it all meant, for her people, for Lexa… _Oh god, Lexa...she's…_

Stomach roiling, Clarke whirled on Titus. “Does she know?” she demanded in a harsh, grating rasp. “Does Lexa know she's…this?”

Titus's face remained grave, but there was something of sympathy in his scent. “She does not know the full truth of her origins, no. That is a secret my order decided long ago that even the Commander must not know.”

Clarke felt like she was going to be sick. “So she's not even her,” she spat bitterly. “She's this thing, this AI, made by the same person who destroyed it all in the first place –”

“No!” Titus's voice was sharp enough to make her look up. “It is not what you think.”

Clarke laughed hollowly. “What does it even matter?”

“It matters,” Titus said, his words ringing with conviction. He took a step closer, and Clarke wasn’t sure her legs would even hold her if she tried to get away. She leaned heavily on the pedestal, trying not to see the journal near her hand.

“I've served four Commanders as Fleimkepa, but none of them were half so wise or strong as _Leksa kom Trikru,”_ Titus told her, voice redolent with fervent belief. “The truth is, she was all those things even before Ascension. The Flame only deepens what is already there.”

Clarke looked back at the book, at the neat, clear drawing of the Flame—ALIE 2.0—on the page. “So that thing is…inside of her?” she asked quietly.

Titus nodded. “I put it there myself.” When Clarke looked up in search of an explanation, he told her, “Upon the death of the Commander, and after the Conclave is held, it is the duty of the _Fleimkepa_ to transfer the Flame to the winner. For the last four generations, that was my task, my sacred burden.” His mouth quirked oddly, his eyes unreadable in the gloom. “Now it is yours.”

“What about you?” Clarke said, even as her fist closed tighter around the small metal box in her hand.

“My time here is over,” Titus said, every word dropping from his lips like the toll of a bell. “I have proven I am not worthy of this office, but you… You will remain at her side, and guard her legacy, and that of the Commander, with everything in you, because of the love you share. The _Fleimkepas_ before me will teach you all that you need to know.” He gestured to the shelves, the rows upon rows of diaries and journals.

Clarke opened her mouth to protest, but Titus smiled then, so suddenly that she was struck dumb.

_“Quia nunc vale, Klark kom Skaikru_ ,” he told her, already beginning to back away, into the obscurity of the cavern’s shadows. He was nearly invisible when his final words floated to her out of the darkness:

“You are _Fleimkepa_ now.”

***

“…come in, Clarke! Ark to Clarke Griffin! Well, I guess it’d be ‘Earth to Clarke’ now…”

Her mother was gently waving a hand in front of her face. Clarke forced an apologetic smile, feeling worn out by the weight of her memories. She had discovered much more since then in the annals of the _Fleimkepas,_ learning about the history of the order and of the Conclave and the deeds of every Commander before Lexa, faithfully recorded by the one who watched over them, waiting to deliver the Flame to its new bearer. The thought that she might have to do that one day—cut the chip out of Lexa's neck and deliver it to the spinal column of some _child_ —still felt unbearable, and yet it was her duty now.

Titus had not been seen in Polis tower since Clarke had ridden the elevator back to the surface alone. When the doors creaked open, she had found Lexa pacing anxiously in front of them, stinking of agitation and fear. Clarke wasn’t sure whether she had rushed into Lexa's arms or been drawn into them, but it didn’t matter. Lexa was here, and Lexa was safe, and Lexa wasn't some new version of a genocidal AI. Lexa was all hers, all human…just a little more than that.

When Lexa had demanded to know where Titus was, Clarke hadn’t been able to tell her anything more than his final words to her. Lexa had refused to believe it until Clarke had shown her the relics of his office, and she had admitted that he would never have given them up unless he meant it. Titus was gone.

Filled with rage and grief, Lexa had sent her wiliest scouts and trackers after her wayward _Fleimkepa,_ but none had been able to catch more than second- and third-hand rumors, days after he had already passed by. From what they could tell, he was moving steadily west, but they lost track of him entirely by the border of the Commander's lands. Lexa had been devastated, but ultimately she had understood: believing that there was no place for him in this new world, Titus had voluntarily exiled himself.

“Hey,” Abby said, a little more softly. “You look like you’re a million miles away. Where’d you go?”

“Sorry.” Clarke gave her mother a swift smile, one that she could tell didn’t entirely hide the pain behind it. Mercifully, though, Abby didn’t pry. “I’m back now,” Clarke told her. As she looked out across the garden, smelling the late summer breeze with just the barest hints of oncoming autumn, she felt some of the ache in her heart soothed away. She was not healed, but she was healing, and so was Lexa. And they were here now, together.

Clarke turned back to look at her mother, and this time her smile was genuine. “Right where I’m meant to be,” she said, and watched a few of the worried lines disappear from Abby’s face as her mother smiled back.

And then she felt it: a very distinct pop in her midsection, making her jolt in her seat. _Oh fuck. Did I just—_

The concern was back on Abby’s face threefold. “Clarke, are you all right? What’s wrong? Is it something with the pups?”

“I think,” Clarke gritted out from between clenched teeth, “that my water just broke.”

***

“You’re gonna have to hit me harder than that, Commander,” Octavia taunted, twisting away from a slash that Lexa had intended to be a solid swipe to the ribs, but wound up being more of a gentle brush. Lexa growled low. Much as she hated to admit it, the _Skaikru_ omega was quick, and she had learned something of patience under Indra’s tutelage. She was almost as good as Lexa at circling and evading, waiting for her opponent’s strength and patience to wane, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

_But not as good as me._

Lexa feinted left, faked right, and in the blink of an eye Octavia was on the ground, Lexa’s sword at her throat. The warrior looked dazed and a little uncertain how that had happened, but not for long.

“Your footwork is sloppy, _Seken,”_ Indra called out from across the ring. “You will be dead within moments on the battlefield.”

Octavia’s astonishment darkened swiftly to displeasure, her lip curling up in a silent snarl. Lexa offered her hand, and pulled the Skaikru warrior to her feet when she took it. “You did well,” she told Octavia in a low voice. “Don’t worry about Indra. She’s just being hard on you because you’re so close, and she wants you to perform well.”

“She’s _impossible,”_ Octavia groaned. “These days I can’t do anything right.”

Lexa shook her head. “It’s when she stops yelling at you that you should be worried.”

“You will need to do much better than that if you are to succeed in your _Trafaya,”_ Indra said, startling them both. Lexa growled at herself a little as she turned to behold her general, who had somehow gone from watching across the ring to standing just behind them without either of them noticing. _She still moves like a hunting cat when she wants to, even at her age,_ Lexa thought, half awed and half envious.

Indra’s stern gaze fixed itself on Lexa. “And do not think I’ve forgotten about you, _Heda,”_ she said, in a tone that Lexa struggled not to flinch at. “You have clearly not been keeping up with your training, if such a short bout had you so winded. You are not too old to be woken up to do wind sprints at dawn, you know.”

Lexa attempted to puff herself up. “I have responsibilities to my mate and pups—”

Indra’s thumb jabbed into her midsection, deflating her. “You also have a responsibility to maintain your physical prowess. You cannot protect them if you can barely beat a pup as green as this one.”

Octavia had been attempting to keep her composure, but her muffled snorts erupted into laughter. Lexa whirled on her, preparing to restart their battle, but she was distracted by the sound of boots thudding along the cobblestones, and a shout of _“Heda!”_

Lexa turned to see one of her runners, a young _Natblida_ named Diné, skidding to a halt by the side of the ring. Taking in her wild eyes and heaving chest, Lexa felt a cold bolt of fear lance through her chest. But before she could demand that Diné tell her what was wrong, the _Natblida_ gasped out, _“Heda,_ your mate has gone into labor! The pups are coming!”

Lexa didn’t wait to hear any more. She was already off and running, vaulting the fence around the ring and landing in a dead sprint back toward Polis tower. All she could think was that the pups were coming, her pups were coming, Clarke was in labor and she needed to be there. All her life, she’d been responsible for a thousand different concerns, a thousand different threads of life and war and politics, but in this moment only one thing mattered: _Get to Clarke. Get to your pups._

She barely remembered even a second of her mad flight back to the tower, through the halls and up half a hundred flights of stairs. She was vaguely aware of people darting out of her way with widened eyes, and the occasional querying shout, but nothing could have stopped her before she dashed into the corridor of the rooms she shared with Clarke.

Lexa burst through the door and into a room made unfamiliar by a cluster of machines around their bed, all of them trailing long snakes of wires that led to the boxy generator, now rumbling to life. Lexa was momentarily dazzled by the continual multicolored blinking of screens and the chorus of beeps and chirps emanating from the machinery, but not for long. Her eyes zeroed in on Clarke, propped up against a mountain of pillows, chest heaving with exertion. Raven held her hand while Abby eyed the machines and said a lot of things Lexa didn’t understand.

“The contractions are getting closer together, but they’re not there yet,” Abby said. “The epidural should be kicking in soon.”

“Well make it go faster!” Clarke gritted out, gripping Raven's hand so hard the beta winced. “Mom, I need to push.”

Abby shook her head. “You can't, Clarke. You’re not fully dilated yet.”

Clarke let out a scream of what was probably at least two-thirds frustration, but Lexa caught the hint of pain in her mate's scent and rushed forward. Raven only just barely managed to get out of the way before Lexa was at Clarke's side.

“I’m here, Clarke,” she murmured, smoothing the hair back from her mate's sweat-beaded forehead. “Tell me what you need.”

“I need these fucking things out of me _now,_ goddammit!” Clarke roared, making Lexa jump. She turned to Abby in consternation, preparing to ask whether this was normal, but the older alpha just shook her head.

“It'll be a while longer, I’m afraid,” she told Lexa. “I’ve given her an epidural, but that can only do so much. She's got three pups to whelp and it's not gonna be easy.”

“What can I do?” Lexa asked, a little desperately.

“Just be there for her and try to keep her calm,” Abby said. “But go wash up first. You smell like you just came from the barn, and that seems unsanitary. Could be dangerous for Clarke and the pups.”

Lexa growled, caught between her instincts to stay at Clarke's side no matter what and her desire not to do anything that might endanger the lives of her mate and children. The quirk of Abby’s eyebrow, and the subtle exertion of alpha pheromones, made the decision for her.

“I will be right back, Clarke,” Lexa promised, getting to her feet.

Clarke snarled, gripping her hand even tighter. “Don’t you dare leave me alone in here, _Leksa kom Trikru!”_

Lexa gave Abby a desperate look, and the older alpha sighed. “Let her go, Clarke. You know we need to maintain as sterile an environment as possible.”

Clarke released Lexa's hand with another frustrated growl, fixed her with a furious glare. “You get back here as fast as humanly possible, you understand? I am not doing this alone!”

“Oh, so what does that make us, chopped liver?” Raven asked, rolling her eyes, but Lexa and Clarke both ignored her.

“I will not be long,” Lexa promised, before dashing out the door.

***

Lexa washed herself and put on clean clothes at top speed, horrific images of what Clarke might be enduring—what might be going wrong at this very moment!—driving her on. She burst back into the room in a blind panic, sure that Clarke and their pups must be dying at any moment, but she found everything much the same. Clarke was still propped up in bed, looking grim and pained; Abby was still calmly giving her advice while keeping an eye on the machines; and Raven held Clarke's hand, attempting to mask severe agony. When Clarke finally let go of Raven to reach for Lexa, she saw the beta cursing under her breath as she attempted to rub the blood back into her fingers.

Lexa understood why a moment later as she took Raven's spot beside Clarke. The omega's hand clamped down on hers with a strength that Lexa could only describe as superhuman. And yet, Lexa thought, as painful as it was to have the bones in her hand crushed, it must be nothing like the agony of bringing three pups into the world.

So, swallowing back her pained groan, Lexa reached for a damp towel sitting in a bucket beside the bed and used it to brush away the sweat lining Clarke's brow. “I’m here,” she told her mate in as soothing a voice as she could manage. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Better not,” Clarke huffed out. “If you do—” But her threat became a sharp cry before Lexa could learn what Clarke planned to do to her if she left her mate's side. When the contraction passed, Clarke slumped back against the pillows, gasping for breath. “Fuck. That was a rough one. Mom, can I—”

“No, baby,” Abby said with a sad smile. “Gotta hold out a little longer. You’re doing so well. Stay strong for me, now.”

“Ugh,” Clarke said, throwing her head back against the pillows. “I don’t know if I can.”

But she could, and she did. Over the next several hours, Clarke vacillated between whining and begging her mother to let her push, and swearing and cursing her pups, her mate, and the whole damned Earth for her existence upon it. Lexa did her best to remain calm, to keep Clarke as comfortable as possible and to fetch her whatever she asked for, to try coaxing her through some of the breathing exercises the midwife they'd consulted had taught them. Clarke ignored her in favor of swearing; she said it made her feel a little better.

Lexa tried to keep her worry down, knowing that it was not uncommon for births to go on this long, and indeed even longer, but she couldn’t help herself. Every second that Clarke remained in agony, Lexa suffered too. Her instincts as an alpha were to snarl and threaten, to fight off the thing that was hurting her mate—but there was nothing to fight in this case. The enemy was inside of her, fighting to get out. This was Clarke's struggle alone.

By the fourth hour, Clarke was still groaning and sweating and struggling not to push. Abby continued speaking calmly and matter-of-factly, as though this was simply an ordinary procedure and not her daughter attempting to give birth to her grandchildren. But Lexa caught the sudden acrid spark of worry in the older alpha's scent, and turned to her with wide eyes.

Clarke had left off Lexa's hand in favor of twisting the furs tightly in her fists and muttering, and Lexa was able to dart over to where Abby stood, surveying her machines with a careful eye. “It's still relatively early, and she hasn’t shown any signs of distress, but she's just so young, and there are three of them…”

_“Lexa.”_

Lexa whirled to find Clarke's gimlet-eyed glare sweeping the room, before finally settling on her. She returned to her omega’s side in an instant, hand reaching out to be crushed once more.

"This fucking sucks," Clarke said between rolling huffs.

Lexa could think of nothing more to say than "Yes, Clarke."

Clarke’s baleful gaze came to rest on her, and Lexa couldn't help shivering. Her mate’s eyes narrowed further, smelling blood.

_"You_ did this to me."

Lexa swallowed a gulp.

"Yes, Clarke."

The hand holding hers tightened until Lexa, veteran of half a hundred battles and no stranger to wounds or pain, winced.

"I hate you."

Lexa sighed, turning her eyes briefly upward in search of the Spirit's strength. "Yes, Clarke."

After another hour had gone by, Abby at last announced that it was time for Clarke to push. The room immediately filled with the thick scent of relief, but it was soon replaced by Clarke's groans of exertion, and both alphas' attempts to disguise the concern as they coaxed and cajoled the omega through the whelping.

And yet, despite Abby's worrying and Lexa's panicking and Clarke's swearing, after six hours of labor Clarke had delivered three healthy pups, each sporting an impressive set of lungs. Their wails drowned out Clarke's own, but for Lexa they might as well have been the sweetest of songbirds. She felt as though the sun had risen indoors as she gazed upon their faces, red and tear-streaked and beautiful. Love glowed to life instantly in her heart, soothing another of her worries: that as someone for whom love was such a perilous prospect, and to whom, therefore, it did not come easily, she might find it hard to love her pups at first, as a sire should. But now, she had no doubts. As Abby placed the tiny omega male in her arms, Lexa felt her own tears coursing down her cheeks, as cool and soothing as summer rain.

The pup squirmed for a moment, and Lexa began purring without thought. Almost instantly, the pup settled himself back against her chest, his cries of discomfort turning to low burbles and coos. Tearing her eyes away from his perfect little face, Lexa looked up to see Abby helping Clarke position the other two pups, a female alpha and a male beta whom they had already agreed would be called Anya and Jake, against her chest to nurse. Clarke looked exhausted, but her exhaustion couldn't dim her smile of pride and happiness. Lexa returned it, willing Clarke to read the love and pride and gratitude in her eyes, before she looked back down at her son.

“Hello, Aden,” she said quietly. _“Mounin houm.”_

***

It would not be correct to say that from that moment forward, _Heda Leksa kom Trikru_ and _Fleimkepa Klark kom Skaikru_ lived happily ever after. And yet with the passage of years, as their lives became their legend and eventually their myth, that is what the storytellers say.

The remainder of Commander Lexa’s reign is rightly remembered as a golden age, and the dawn of our modern era of peace. Her rule was a time of growth, harmony, and healing, especially when compared to the decades of war and conflict that came before. _Skaikru_ in particular flourished, nurtured by the Commander’s hand, the diplomacy of her mate, and the patience of _Indra kom Trikru._ Representatives of _Skaikru_ disseminated their _tek_ and knowledge to the whole of the _Kongeda,_ led by the Engineer, _Reivon kom Skaikru._ It was she who established the _Tichedon kom Tek_ , the school of technology that trained all who would learn in her ways and knowledge. Students of all ages and from all Clans were welcomed to its halls, and even now they ring with the sounds of laughter and learning.

But as Arkadia grew and thrived under the guidance of its Chancellor, _Abi kom Skaikru,_ it became clear that they could not remain within the borders of Trikru forever. And so, under the direction of the Commander, the _Bos Lufa,_ the Great Search, was assembled. The greatest explorers and pathfinders of the age went forth into the lands beyond the borders of the _Kongeda,_ in search of a new homeland for the Thirteenth Clan.

They found it in a valley formed by green mountains near the borders of _Azgeda,_ and built the settlement of New Arkadia within its sheltering arms. The land was wild and untamed, but _Skaikru,_ who had grown up in enclosed within metal walls, surrounded by the silence of space, delighted in making their home in a place so filled with birdsong and living things. The discovery of livable territory in what was thought to be an inhospitable wasteland inspired Lexa to continue the _Bos Lufa,_ so that her people might find more lands of opportunity in which to grow and prosper.

But Lexa’s reforms were not merely external. Inspired by the sacrifice of the _Natblida_ Aden, the Commander worked with the _Fleimkepa_ to radically reinvent the Conclave and the training of the Nightbloods. While some initially muttered that it was only out of concern for her children, two of whom were themselves Nightbloods, it soon became clear that Lexa’s motivation arose from a long-held conviction that not only was the death of all but one Nightblood wasteful and barbarous, but also was not a guarantor that the best Commander would be chosen.

Clarke and Lexa worked together to design a new Conclave, one that would combine the traditional test of combat with trials that would test other elements they determined had just as much importance to the role of _Heda_ as skill at arms. In the halls of Polis tower, those novitiates eligible for the Conclave were questioned closely on lore and judgement by the _Fleimkepa_ to assess their wisdom. A maze of secret traps and nearly endless turnings was constructed in the countryside outside the city to determine their cunning. And the _Natblida_ were blindfolded and taken in the night to remote terrain, someplace deep in the forests of _Trikru_ or high on the snowy peaks of _Azgeda_ or far into the swampland of _Louwoda,_ to test their will to survive. The final duel was no longer to the death, either. The novitiate with the highest total assessment would become the new Commander.

Those _Natblida_ who were not chosen by the Spirit thenceforth became members of the _Juskepa,_ Keepers of the Blood. In times of peace they roamed the land singly or in small groups, making certain that the Commander’s justice reached all of her people, no matter how remote. The arrival of those who carried the blood of _Heda_ became a source of relief to many in villages and towns and cities, as they would adjudicate disputes in her name, no matter how small. In times of war, they became the Commander’s personal guard, standing stalwart at her side to defend their _Heda_ to the death. As Lexa saw it, future _Juskepa_ would have grown up alongside their Commander as her brothers and sisters, and who better to defend her life and keep her laws? Lexa’s beta son, _Jeik kom Polis,_ became the first captain of the _Juskepa,_ working closely with his mother and the order of the _Fleimkepa_ to seek out and train all those who possessed the _Sheidjus._

There were still wars and skirmishes to fight, of course, as well as natural disasters and epidemics to combat. Lexa faced repeated incursions on her borders by bandits and exiles, envious of the prosperity enjoyed by the Coalition, and of course the _Azgedan_ Rebellion, where the mutinous lordlings rose up against King Roan and the Commander rode forth with her armies to secure his rule. She trapped the rebel army against the very walls it had besieged for many days and nights, and with the aid of her daughter, _Onya kom Polis,_ who had become general of Lexa’s army, as dawn broke, so did they break the rebellion and restore the rightful king.

Commander Lexa approached all of these dangers with a renewed will and commitment to peace and justice, because with her mate, _Klark kom Skaikru,_ at her side, she could never truly be afraid. It was after this revolt was quelled that Lexa set forth the Highest Law, one which would hold for all of her nations and which still holds today:

_Souda kep ogonzaun in._ Peace must be kept.

It is for this law that she was given the name _Ogonzaunheda,_ the Commander of Peace. Clarke continued to be known as the Commander of Death, but it was a gentler death she brought, a final peace instead of a bitter fight. Together, _Wanheda_ and _Ogonzaunheda_ worked to bring balance and harmony to all the nations of the Coalition, and by the time of their deaths, they were able to well and truly say that their efforts had succeeded. They laid the foundations for the world in which we now live, and their children continued their legacy of peace. After Lexa embarked upon her final journey, her son Aden was chosen to follow her as _Heda,_ and he ruled justly and well. Clarke lived long enough to pass the Flame onto him, but within a month she followed her mate to the next shore.

The accounts of those who were present at Lexa’s passing tell us that it happened in the spring, in her own bed, surrounded by those who loved her. As her son Aden tells it, she bade farewell to her children and grandchildren before turning to _Klark kom Skaikru,_ for whom the flame of her love had never wavered. Her last act was to brush away the tears on Clarke’s face, and her final words were to her beloved mate:

“Don’t worry, Clarke. Death is not the end. We will meet again.”

And they did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigedasleng:
> 
> Tek: technology  
> Fleimstika: Branding iron  
> Chich ai op, Tytos: Speak to me, Titus  
> Tel yu Heda op hakom yu komba raun hir: Tell your Commander why you have come here.  
> Gona: Warriors  
> Kyongedon: Grounders  
> Quia nunc vale [Latin]: Farewell for now  
> *Trafaya: Trial by Fire - the final test for a Trikru warrior  
> Mounin houm: Welcome home


End file.
